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January to Junf, 1903 

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Vol. XXV. 


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The Strand Magazine. 

Vol. xxv. 

JANUARY. 1905 

No. 145. 

The Adventures of Etienne Gerard. 

By A. Conan Doyle. 

L— The 

Adventure of the Forest Inn. 
F all the great battles in which 
I had the honour of drawing 
my sword for the Emperor 
and for France there was not 
one which was lost At 
Waterloo, although, in a sense, 
I was present, I was unable to fight, and the 
enemy was victorious. It is not for me to 
say that there is a connection between these 
two things. You know me too well, my 
friends, to imagine that I would make such a 
claim. But it gives matter for thought, and 
some have drawn flattering conclusions from 
it. After all, it was only a matter of breaking 
a few English squares and the day would 
have been our own. If the Hussars of 
Conflans, with Etienne Gerard to lead them, 
could not do this, then the best judges are 
mistaken. But let that pass. The Fates 
had ordained that I should hold my hand 
and that the Empire should fall. But they 
had also ordained that this day of gloom and 
sorrow should bring such honour to me as 
had never come when I swept on the wings 
of victory from Boulogne to Vienna. Never 
had I burned so brilliantly as at that supreme 
moment when the darkness fell upon all 
around me. You are aware that I was faithful 
to the Emperor in his adversity, and that I 
refused to sell my sword and my honour to the 
Bourbons. Never again was I to feel my war 
horse between my knees, never again to hear 
the kettledrums and silver trumpets behind 
me as I rode in front of my little rascals. 
But it comforts my heart, my friends, and it 
brings the tears to my eyes, to think how 
great I was upon that last day of my soldier 
life, and to remember that of all the remark- 
able exploits which have won me the love of 
so many beautiful women, and the respect 
of so many noble men, there was none which, 
in splendour, in audacity, and in the great 
end which was attained, could compare with 
my famous ride upon the night of June i8th, 

Vol. xxv. -1 

1815. I am aware that the story is often 
told at mess-tables and in barrack-rooms, so 
that there are few in the army who have not 
heard it, but modesty has sealed my lips, 
until now, my friends, in the privacy of these 
intimate gatherings, I am inclined to lay the 
true facts before you. 

In the first place, there is one thing which 
I can assure you. In all his career Napoleon 
never had so splendid an army as that with 
which he took the field for that campaign. 
In 18 13 France was exhausted. For every 
veteran there were five children — Marie 
Louises as we called them, for the Empress 
had busied herself in raising levies while the 
Emperor took the field. But it was very 
different in 181 5. The prisoners had all 
come back — the men from the snows of 
Russia, the men from the dungeons of Spain, 
the men from the hulks in England. These 
were the dangerous men, veterans of twenty 
battles, longing for their old trade, and with 
hearts filled with hatred and revenge. The 
ranks were full of soldiers who wore two and 
three chevrons, every chevron meaning five 
years' service. And the spirit of these men 
was terrible. They were raging, furious, 
fanatical, adoring the Emperor as a Mameluke 
does his prophet, ready to fall upon their own 
bayonets if their blood could serve him. If 
you had seen these fierce old veterans going 
into battle, with their flushed faces, their 
savage eyes, their furious yells, you would 
wonder that anything could stand against 
them. So high was the spirit of France at 
that time that every other spirit would have 
quailed before it ; but these people, these 
English, had neither spirit nor soul, but only 
solid, immovable beef, against which we broke 
ourselves in vain. That was it, my friends ! 
On the one side, poetry, gallantry, self-sacri- 
fice—all that is beautiful and heroic. On the 
other side, beef. Our hopes, our ideals, our 
dreams— all were shattered on that terrible 

beef of Old England. 

Copyright, 1903, by Gcorg* Ne-vnes, Limited 


by CiOOgle 


You have read how the Emperor gathered 
his forces, and then how he and I, with a 
hundred and thirty thousand veterans, hurried 
to the northern frontier and fell upon the 
Prussians and the English. On the 1 6th of 
June Ney held the English in play at Quatre 
liras while we beat the Prussians at Ligny. 
It is not for me to say how far 1 contributed 
to that victory, hut it is well known that the 
Hussars of Con flans covered themselves with 
glory* They fought well, these Prussians, 
and eight thousand of them were left upon 
the field. The Emperor thought that he 
had done with them, as he sent Marshal 
Grouchy with thirty-two thousand men to 
follow them up and to prevent their inter- 
fering with his plans* Then, with nearly 
eighty thousand men, he turned upon these 
"Goddam" Englishmen. How much we 
had to avenge upon them, we Frenchmen — 
the guineas of Pitt, the hulks of Portsmouth, 
the invasion of Wellington, the perfidious 
victories of Nelson ! At last the day of 
.punishment seemed to have arisen. 

Wellington had with him sixty - seven 
thousand men, but many of them were known 
to he Dutch and Belgian, who had no <*reat 
desire to fight against us. Of good troops he 

hjd not fifty thousand. Finding himself in 
the presence of the Kmperor in person with 
eighty thousand men, this Englishman was 
so paralyzed with fear that he could neither 
move himself nor his army. You have seen 
the rabbit when the snake approaches. So 
stood the English upon the ridge of Waterloo, 
The night before, the Emperor, who had lost 
an aide-de-camp at Lig n y 3 ordered me to 
join his staff, and I had left my Hussars 
to the charge of Major Victor. I know not 
which of us was the most grieved, they or I, 
that I should be called away upon the eve 
of battle, but an order is an order, and a 
good soldier can but shrug his shoulders 
and obey. With the Emperor I rode across 
the front of the enemy's position on the 
morning of the iSth, he looking at them 
through his glass and planning which was 
the shortest way to destroy them, Soult was 
at his elbow, and Ney and Foy and others 
who had fought the English in Portugal and 
Spain, " Have a care, Sire/' said Souk. 
"The English infantry is very solid." 

"You think them good soldiers because 
they have beaten you," said the Emperor, and 
we younger men turned away our faces and 
smiled. But Ney and Toy were grave and 


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serious. All the time the English line, 
chequered with red and blue and dotted with 
batteries, was drawn up silent and watchful 
within a long musket-shot of us. On the 
other side of the shallow valley our own 
people, having finished their soup, were 
assembling for the battle. It had rained very 
heavily, but at this moment the sun shone 
out and beat upon the French army, turning 
our brigades of cavalry into so many dazzling 
rivers of steel, and twinkling and sparkling 
on the innumerable bayonets of the infantry. 
At the sight of that splendid army, and the 
beauty and majesty of its appearance, I could 
contain myself no longer, but, rising in my 
stirrups, I waved my busby and cried, " Vive 
TEmpereur ! " a shout which growled and 
roared and clattered from one end of the 
line to the other, while the horsemen waved 
their swords and the footmen held up their 
shakos upon their bayonets. The English 
remained petrified upon their ridge. They 
knew that their hour had come. 

And so it would have come if at that 
moment the word had been given and the 
whole army had been permitted to advance. 
We had but to fall upon them and to sweep 
them from the face of the earth. To put 
aside all question of courage, we were the 
more numerous, the older soldiers, and the 
better led. But the Emperor desired to do 
all things in order, and he waited until the 
ground should be drier and harder, so that 
his artillery could manoeuvre. So three hours 
were wasted, and it was eleven o'clock before 
we saw Jerome Buonaparte's columns advance 
upon our left and heard the crash of the 
guns which told that the battle had begun. 
The loss of those three hours was our 
destruction. The attack upon the left was 
directed upon a farmhouse which was held 
by the English Guards, and we heard the 
three loud shouts of apprehension which the 
defenders were compelled to utter. They 
were still holding out, and D'Erlon's corps 
was advancing upon the right to engage 
another portion of the English line, when 
our attention was called away from the battle 
beneath our noses to a distant portion of the 
field of action. 

The Emperor had been looking through 
his glass to the extreme left of the English 
line, and now he turned suddenly to the 
Duke of Dalmatia, or Soult, as we soldiers 
preferred to call him. 

" VVhat is it, Marshal ? " said he. 

We all followed the direction of his gaze, 
some raising our glasses, some shading our 
eyes. There was a thick wood over yonder, 

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then a long, bare slope, and another wood 
beyond. Over this bare strip between the 
two woods there lay something dark, like the 
shadow of a moving cloud. 

" I think that they are cattle, Sire," said 

At that instant there came a quick twinkle 
from amid the dark shadow. 

" It is Grouchy," said the Emperor, and 
he lowered his glass. " They are doubly 
lost, these English. I hold them in the 
hollow of my hand. They cannot escape 

He looked round, and his eyes fell upon 

" Ah ! here is the prince of messengers," 
said he. " Are you well mounted, Colonel 

1 was riding my little Violette, the pride 
df the brigade. I said so. 

u Then ride hard to Marshal Grouchy, 
whose troops you see over yonder. Tell 
him that he is to fall upon the left flank and 
rear of the English while I attack them in 
front. Together we should crush them and 
not a man escape." 

I saluted and rode off without a word, my 
heart dancing with joy that such a mission 
should be mine. I looked at that long, solid 
line of red and blue looming through the 
smoke of the guns, and I shook my fist at it 
as I went. "We shall crush them and not 
a man escape." They were the Emperor's 
words, and it was I, Etienne Gerard, who was 
to turn them into deeds. I burned to reach 
the Marshal, and for an instant I thought of 
riding through the English left wing, as being 
the shortest cut. I have done bolder deeds 
and come out safely, but I reflected that if 
things went badly with me and I was taken 
or shot the message would be lost and the 
plans of the Emperor miscarry. I passed 
in front of the cavalry therefore, past the 
Chasseurs, the Lancers of the Guard, the 
Carabineers, the Horse Grenadiers, and, 
lastly, my own little rascals, who followed 
me wistfully with their eyes. Beyond the 
cavalry the Old Guard was standing, twelve 
regiments of them, all veterans of many 
battles, sombre and severe, in long blue 
overcoats and hizh bearskins from which the 
plumes had been removed. Each bore 
within the goatskin knapsack upon his back 
the blue and white parade uniform which 
they would use for their entry into Brussels 
next day. As I rode past them I reflected 
that these men had never been beaten, and, 
as I looked at their weather-ben ten faces and 
their stem and silent bearing, I said to 



myself that they never would be beaten, 
Great heavens, how lit tie could I foresee 
what a few more hours would bring ! 

On the right of the Old Guard were the 
Young Guard and the 6th Corps of Lobau, 
and then I passed Jacquinot's I oncers and 
Mar hot's Hussars, who held the extreme 
flank of the line. All these troops knew 
nothing of the corps which was coming 
towards them through the wood, and their 
attention was taken up in watching the battle 
which raged upon their left More than a 
hundred guns were thundering from each 
side, and the din was so great that of all the 
battles which I have fought I cannot recall 
more than half-a-dozen which were as noisy, 
I looked back over my shoulder, and there 
were two brigades of Cuirassiers, English and 
French, pouring down the hill together, with 
the sword - blades playing over them like 
summer lightning. How I longed to turn 

*' t IjWIK.V.1* HATK ("'Fit MY Slim l.HTR f ANh THBKR tYI-'kB TWO ItRlfTAPKS OP 


Violette, and to lead my Hussars into the 
thick of it ! What a picture ! Etienne 
Gerard with his back to the battle, and a fine 
cavalry action raging behind him. But duty 
Is duty, so I rode past Marbors vedettes and 
on in the direction of the wood, passing the 
village of Frishermont upon my lefL 

In front of me lay the great wood, called 
the Wood of Paris, consisting mostly of oak 
trees, with a few narrow paths leading through 
it. I halted and listened when I reached it, 
but out of its gloomy depths there came no 
blare of trumpet, no murmur of wheels, no 
tramp of horses to mark the advance of that 
great column which with my own eyes I had 
seen streaming towards it The hattle roared 
behind me, but in front all was as silent 
as that grave in which so many brave 
men would shortly sleep. The sunlight 
was cut off by the arches of leaves above 
my head, and a heavy damp smell rose from 
the sodden ground. For 
several miles I galloped at 
such a pace as few riders 
would care to go with 
roots below and branches 
above. Then, at last, for 
the first time I caught a 
glimpse of Grouchy 's ad- 
vance guard, . Scattered 
parties of Hussars passed 
me on either side, but 
some distance off, among 
the trees* I heard the 
beating of a ' drum far 
away, and the low t dull 
murmur which an army 
makes upon the march. 
Any moment I might come 
upon the staff and deliver 
my message to Grouchy 
in person, for I knew well 
that on such a march a 
Marshal of France would 
certainly ride with the van 
of his army, 

Suddenly the trees 
thinned in front of me, 
and I understood with 
delight that I was coming 
to the end of the wood, 
whence I could see the 
army and find the Marshal 
Where the track comes 
out from amid the trees 
there is a small cabaret, 
where woodcutters and 
waggoners drink their 
wine. Outside the door 

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of this I reined up my horse for an instant 
while I took in the scent: which was before 
me* Some few miles away I saw a second 
great forest, that of St, l^ambert, out 
of which the Emperor had seen the 
troops advancing. It was easy to see, 
however, why there had been so long a 
delay in their leaving one wood and reaching 
the other, because between the two ran the 
deep defile of the Lasnes, which had to be 

" Madman ! " he cried, " why are you here ? 
What are you doing? " 

lt I am seeking Marshal Grouchy*" 

"You are in the heart of the Prussian 
army. Turn and fly ! " 

u Impossible ; this is Grouchy's corps." 

11 How do you know ? " 

" Because the Emperor has said it. 31 

"Then the Emperor has made a terrible 
mistake ! I tetl you that a patrol of Silesian 


crossed- Sure enough, a long column of 
troops— horse, foot, and guns — was streaming 
down one side of it and swarming up the 
other, while the advance yuard was already 
among the trees on either side of me. A 
battery of Horse Artillery was coming along 
the road, and I was about to gallop up to it 
and ask the officer in command if he could 
tell me where I should find the Marshal, 
when suddenly I observed that, though the 
gunners were dressed in blue, they had not 
the dolman trimmed with red bra nden burgs as 
our own horse-gunners wear it. Amazed at 
the sight t I was looking at these soldiers to 
left and right when a hand touched my 
thigh, and there was the landlord, who had 
rushed from his inn. 

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Hussars has this instant left me. Did you 
not see them in the wood ? M 

" I saw Hussars." 

"They are the enemy.*' 

w Where is Grouchy ? " 

"He is behind, They have passed him." 

"Then how can I go back ? If I go 
forward I may see him yet. i must obey 
my orders and find him wherever he is," 

The man reflected for an instant 

11 Quick ! quick ! " he cried, seizing my 
bridle, " Do what I say and you may yet 
escape* They have not observed you yet. 
Come with me and I will hide you until they 

Behind his house there was a low stable, 
&nd into this he thrust Violette. Then he 
Original from 



half led and half dragged me into the kitchen 
of the inn. It was a bare, brick-floored room. 
A stout, red-faced woman was cooking cutlets 
at the fire. 

11 What's the matter now ? " she asked, 
looking with a frown from me to the inn- 
keeper. " Who is this you have brought 

in ? " 

" It is a French officer, Marie. We cannot 

let the Prussians take him." 

"Why not?" 

" Why not ? Sacred name of a dog, was I 
not myself a soldier of Napoleon ? Did 1 
not win a musket of honour among the 
V&ites of the Guard? Shall I see a comrade 
taken before my eyes ? Marie, we must 
save him." 

But the lady looked at me with most 
unfriendly eyes. 

" Pierre Charras," she said, ' * you will not 
rest until you have your house burned over 
your head. Do you not understand, you 
blockhead, that if you fought for Napoleon it 
was because Napoleon ruled Belgium? He 
does so no longer. The Prussians are our 
allies and this is our enemy. I will have no 
Frenchman jn this house. Give him up ! " 

The innkeeper scratched his head and 
looked at me in despair, but it was very 
evident to me that it was neither for France 
nor for Belgium that this woman cared, but 
that it was the safety of her own house that 
was nearest her heart. 

" Madame," said I, with all the dignity * 
and assurance I could command, " the 
Emperor is defeating the English and the 
French army will be here before evening. 
If you have used me well you will be 
rewarded, and if you have denounced me 
you will be punished and your house will 
certainly be burned by the provost-marshal." 

She was shaken by this, and I hastened to 
complete my victory by other methods. 

" Surely," said I, " it is impossible that 
anyone so beautiful can also be hard-hearted ? 
You will not refuse me the refuge which I 

She looked at my whiskers and I saw that 
she was softened. I took her hand, and in 
two minutes we were on such terms that her 
husband swore roundly that he would give 
me up himself if ' I pressed the matter 

44 Besides, the road is full of Prussians," 
he cried. " Quick ! quick ! into the loft ! " 

" Quick ! quick ! into the loft ! " echoed 
his wife, and together they hurried me towards 
a ladder which led to a trap-door in the 
ceiling. There was loud knocking at the 

Digitized by GoOgle 

door, so you can think that it was not long 
before my spurs went twinkling through the 
hole and the board was dropped behind me. 
An instant later I heard the voices of the 
Germans in the rooms below me. 

The place in which I found myself was 
a single long attic, the ceiling of which was 
formed by the roof of the house. It ran 
over the whole of one side of the inn, and 
through the cracks in the flooring I could 
look down either upon the kitchen, the 
sitting-room, or the bar at my pleasure. 
There were no windows, but the place was 
in the last stage of disrepair, and several 
missing slates upon the roof gave me light 
and the means of observation. The place 
was heaped with lumber— fodder at one end 
and a huge pile of empty bottles at the other. 
There was no door or window save the hole 
through which I had come up. 

I sat upon the heap of hay for a few 
minutes to steady myself and to think out 
my plans. It was very serious that the Prus- 
sians should arrive upon the field of battle 
earlier than our reserves, but there appeared 
to be only one corps of them, and a corps 
more or less makes little difference to such a 
man as the Emperor. He could afford to 
give the English all this and beat them still. 
The best way in which I could serve him, 
since Grouchy was behind, was to wait here 
until they were past, and then to resume my 
journey, to see the Marshal, and to give him 
his orders. If he advanced upon the rear of 
the English instead of following the Prus- 
sians all would be well. The fate of France 
depended upon my judgment and my nerve. 
It was not the first time, my friends, as you 
are well aware, and you know the reasons 
that I had to trust that neither nerve nor 
judgment would ever fail me. Certainly, the 
Emperor had chosen the right man for his 
mission. " The prince of messengers " he had 
called me. I would earn my title. 

It was clear that I could do nothing until 
the Prussians had passed, so I spent my time 
in observing them. I have no love for these 
people, but I am compelled to say that they 
kept excellent discipline, for not a man of 
them entered the inn, though their lips were 
caked with dust and they were ready to drop 
with fatigue. Those who had knocked at 
the door were bearing an insensible comrade, 
and having left him they returned at once to 
the ranks Several others were carried in 
in the same fashion and laid in the kitchen, 
while a young surgeon, little more than a 
boy, remained behind in charge of them. 
Having observed them through the cracks in 



the floor, I next turned my attention to the 
holes in the roof, from which I had an 
excellent view of all that was passing out- 
side, The Prussian corps was still stream- 
ing past. It was easy to see that they 
had made a terrible march and had little 
food, for the faces of the men were 
ghastly, and they svere plastered from head 
to foot with mud from thetr falls upon the 
foul and slippery roads. Yet, spent as they 
were, their spirit was excellent, and ihey 
pushed and hauled at the gun-carriages when 
the wheels sank up to the axles in the mire, 
and the weary horses were floundering knee- 
deep unable to draw them through* The 
officers rode up and down the column en- 
couraging the more active with words of 
praise, and the laggards with blows from the 
flat of their swords. All the time from over 
tlie wood in front of them there came the 
tremendous roar of the battle, as if all the 
rivers on earth had united in one gigantic 
cataract, booming and crashing in a mighty 
fall. Like the spray of the cataract was the 
long veil of smoke which rose high over the 
trees. The officers pointed to it with their 
swords, and with hoarse cries from their 
parched lips the mud-stained men pushed 
onwards to the battle. For an hour I 
watched them pass, and I reflected that their 
vanguard must have come into touch with 
Marbot's vedettes 
and that the 
Emperor knew 
already of their 
coming. " You 
are going very 
fast up the road, 
my friends, but 
you will come 
down it a great 
deal faster/' said 
I to myself, and 
I consoled myself 
with the thought. 
But an adven- 
ture came to 
break the mo- 
notony of this 
long wait, I was 
seated beside my 
loophole and con- 
gratulating myself 
that the corps 
was nearly past, 
and that the road 
would soon lie 
clear for my jour- 
ney, when sud- 

V<jJ, xx v + — a 

denly I heard a loud altercation break out 
in licnth in the kitchen, 

" You shall not go ! ?5 cried a woman's 

" I tell you that I will ! " said a man's, 
and there was a sound of scuffling. 

In an instant I had my eye to the crack in 
the floor There was my stout lady, like a 
faithful watch -dog, at the bottom of the 
ladder, while the young German surgeon, 
white with anger, was endeavouring to come 
up it. Several of the German soldiers who 
had recovered from their prostration were 
sitting about on the kitchen floor and watch- 
ing the quarrel with stolid, but attentive, 
faces. The landlord was nowhere to be 

"There is no liquor there," said the 

" I do not want liquor ; 1 want hay or 
straw for these men to lie upon. Why should 
they lie on the bricks when there is straw 
overhead ? " 

"There is no straw." 

*' What is up there ? " 

" Empty bottles/ 5 

" Nothing else?" 

" Xo." 

For a moment it looked as if the surgeon 
would abandon his intention, but one of the 
soldiers pointed up to the ceiling, I gathered 


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from what I could understand of his words 
that he could see the straw sticking out 
between the planks. In vain the woman 
protested. Two of the soldiers were able to 
get upon their feet and to drag her aside, 
while the young surgeon ran up the ladder, 
pushed open the trap-door, and climbed into 
the loft. As he swung the door back I slipped 
behind it, but as luck would have it he shut 
it again behind him, and there we were left 
standing face to face. 

Never have I seen a more astonished 
young man. 

"A French officer ! " he gasped. 

"Hush!" said I, "hush! Not a word 
above a whisper." I had drawn my sword. 

"I am not a combatant," he said ; " 1 am 
a doctor. Why do you threaten me .with 
your sword ? I am not armed." 

" I do not wish to hurt you, but I must 
protect myself. I am in hiding here." 

"A spy!" 

" A spy does not wear such a uniform as 
this, nor do you find spies on the staff of an 
army. I rode by mistake into the heart of 
this Prussian corps, and I concealed myself 
here in the hope of escaping when they are 
past. I will not hurt you if you do not hurt 
me, but if you do not swear that you will be 
silent as to my presence you will never go 
down alive from this attic." 

44 You can put up your sword, sir," said the 
surgeon, and I saw a friendly twinkle in his 
eyes. " I am a Pole by birth, and I have no 
ill-feeling to you or your people. I will do 
my best for my patients, but I will do no 
more. Capturing Hussars is not one of the 
duties of a surgeon. With your permission 
I will now descend with this truss of hay to 
make a couch for these poor fellows below." 

I had intended to exact an oath from him, 
but it is my experience that if a man will not 
speak the truth he will not swear the truth, 
so I said no more. The surgeon opened the 
trap-door, threw out enough hay for his 
purpose, and then descended the ladder, 
letting down the door behind him. I 
watched him anxiously when he rejoined his 
patients, and so did my good friend the 
landlady, but he said nothing and busied 
himself with the needs of his soldiers. 

By this time I was sure that the last of the 
army corps was past, and I went to my loop- 
hole confident that I should find the coast 
clear, save, perhaps, for a few stragglers, 
whom I could disregard. The first corps 
was indeed past, and I could see the last 
files of the infantry disappearing into the 
wood ; but you can imagine my disappoint- 

Diqilized oy vjiOOQIC 

ment when out of the Forest of St 
Lambert I saw a second corps emerging, 
as numerous as the first. There could be no 
doubt that the whole Prussian army, which 
we thought we had destroyed at Ligny, was 
about to throw itself upon our right wing 
while Marshal Grouchy had been coaxed 
away upon some fool's errand. The roar of 
guns, much nearer than before, told me that 
the Prussian batteries which had passed me 
were already in action. Imagine my terrible 
"position ! Hour after hour was passing ; the 
sun was sinking towards the west. And yet 
this cursed inn, in which I lay hid, was like a 
little island amid a rushing stream of furious 
Prussians. It was all-important that I should 
reach Marshal Grouchy, and yet I could 
not show my nose without being made 
prisoner. You can think how I cursed 
and tore my hair. How little do we 
know what is in store for us ! Even 
while I raged against my ill-fortune, that 
same fortune was reserving me for a 
far higher task than to carry a message to 
Grouchy — a task which could not have been 
mine had I not been held tight in that little 
inn on the edge of the Forest of Paris. 

Two Prussian corps had passed and a third 
was coming up, when I heard a great fuss 
and the sound of several voices in the sitting- 
room. By altering my position I was able to 
look down and see what was going on. 

Two Prussian generals were beneath me, 
their heads bent over a map which lay upon 
the table. Several aides-de-camp and staff 
officers stood round in silence. Of the two 
generals one was a fierce old man, white- 
haired and wrinkled, with a ragged, grizzled 
moustache and a voice like the bark of a 
hound. The other was younger, but long- 
faced and solemn. He measured distances 
upon the map with the air of a student, while 
his companion stamped and fumed and 
cursed like a corporal of Hussars. It was 
strange to see the old man so fiery and the 
young one so reserved. I could not under- 
stand all that they said, but I was very sure 
about their general meaning. 

"I tell you we must push on and ever 
on ! " cried the old fellow, with a furious 
German oath. " I promised Wellington that 
I would be there with the whole army even if 
I had to be strapped to my horse. Billow's 
corps is in action, and Ziethen's shall 
support it with every man and gun. For- 
wards, Gneisenau, forwards ! " 

The other shook his head. 

44 You must remember, your Excellency, 
that if the English are beaten they will make 



\ i 

for the coast. What will your position be 
then, with Grouchy between you and the 

" We shall beat them, Gneisenau j the 
Duke and I will grind them to powder 
between us. Push on, I say ! The whole 
war will be ended in one blow, Bring Pirseh 
up, and we can throw sixty thousand men 
into tiie scale while Thiehnann holds Grouchy 
beyond Wavre." 

Gneisenau shrugged his shoulders, but at 
that instant an orderly appeared at the door 

14 An aide-de-camp from the Duke of 
Wellington," said he. 

" Ha, ha ! n cried the old man ; " let us 
hear what he has to say ! n 

An English officer, with mud and blood 
all over his scarlet 
jacket, staggered 
into the room. A 
crimsin - stained 
handkerchief was 
knotted round his 
arm, and he held 
the table to keep 
himself from falling, 

" My message is 
to Marshal Blucher," 
said he, 

" I am Marshal 
Blucher. Go on ! 
go on ! " cried the 
impatient old man. 

"The Duke bade 
me to tell you, sir, 
that the British 
Army can hold its 
own and that he 
has no fears for the 
result, The French 
cavalry has been 
destroyed, two of 
their divisions of 
infantry have ceased 
to exist, and only 
the Guard is in re- 
serve. If you give 
us a vigorous sup^ 
port the defeat will 
be changed to abso- 
lute rout and — — " 
His knees gave way 

under him and he fell in a heap upon the 

"Enough! enough!" cried Bludicr. 
"Gneisenau, send an aide-de-camp to Wel- 
lington and tell him to rely upon me to 
the full Gome on, gentlemen, we have our 
work 10 do ! * He hustled, eagerly put of 

the room with all his staff clanking behind 
him, while two orderlies carried the English 
messenger to the care of the surgeon. 

Gneisenau, the Chief of the Staff, had 
lingered behind for an instant, and he laid 
his hand upon one of the aides de camp. 
The fellow had attracted my attention, for I 
have always a quick eye for a fine man. He 
was tall, and slender, the very model of a 
horseman j indeed, there was something in 
his appearance which made it not unlike my 
own. His face was dark and as keen as that 
of a hawk, with fierce black eyes under thick, 
shaggy brows, and a moustache which would 
have put him in the crack squadron of my 
Hussars. He wore a green coat with white 
facings, and a horsehair helmet— a Diagoon, 

as I conjectured, 
and as dashing a 
cavalier as one 
would wish to have 
at the end of one's 

"A word with 
you, Count Stein," 
said Gneisenau. U U 
the enemy are 
routed, but if the 
Emperor escapes, he 
will rally another 
army, and all will 
have to be done 
again. But if we 
can get the Em- 
peror, then the war 
is indeed ended. It 
is worth a great 
effort and a great 
risk for such an 
abject as that/' 

The young 
Dragoon said 
nothing, but he 
listened atten- 

" Suppose 
the Duke of 
words should 
prove to be 


the French 
army should be driven in utter lout from 
the field, the Emperor will certainly take the 
road back through Genappe and Charleroi 
as being the shortest to the frontier. We 
can imagine that his horses will he fleet, and 
that the fugitives will make way for him. 
Our cavalry will follow the rear of the beaten 

by Google 




army, but the Emperor will be far away at 
the front of the throng." 

The young Dragoon inclined his head. 

'"To you, Count Stein, I commit the 
Emperor. If you take him your name will 
live in history. You have the reputation of 
being the hardest rider in our army. Do 
you choose such comrades as you may select 
— ten or a dozen should be enough. You 
are not to engage in the battle, nor are you 
to follow the general pursuit, but you are to 
ride clear of the crowd, reserving your 
energies for a nobler end. Do you under- 
stand me ? " 

Again the Dragoon inclined his head. 
This silence impressed me. I felt that he 
was indeed a dangerous man. 

"Then I leave the details in your own 
hands. Strike at no one except the highest. 
You cannot mistake the Imperial carriage, 
nor can you fail to recognise the figure of the 
Emperor. Now I must follow the Marshal. 
Adieu ! If ever I see you again I trust that 
it will be to congratulate you upon a deed 
which will ring through Europe." 

The Dragoon saluted and Gneisenau 
hurried from the room. The young officer 
stood in deep thought for a few moments. 
Then he followed the Chief of the Staff. I 
looked with curiosity from my loophole to 
see what his next proceeding would be. His 
horse, a fine, strong chestnut with two white 
stockings, was fastened to the rail of the inn. 
He sprang into the saddle, and, riding to 
intercept a column of cavalry which was 
passing, he spoke to an officer at the head of 
the leading regiment. Presently after some 
talk I saw two Hussars — it was a Hussar 
regiment — drop out of the ranks and take up 
their position beside Count Stein. The next 
regiment was also stopped, and two lancers 
were added to his escort. The next furnished 
him with two Dragoons and the next with 
two Cuirassiers. Then he drew his little 
group of horsemen aside and he gathered 
them round him, explaining to them what 
they had to do. Finally the nine soldiers 
rode off together and disappeared into the 
Wood of Paris. 

I need not tell you, my friends, what all 
this portended. Indeed, he had acted exactly 
as I should have done in his place. From 
each colonel he had demanded the two best 
horsemen in the regiment, and so he had 
assembled a band who might expect to catch 
whatever they should follow. Heaven help 
the Emperor if, without an escort, he should 
find them on his track ! 

And I, dear friends — imagine the fever, the 

ferment, the madness ot my mind ! All 
thought of Grouchy had passed away. No 
guns were to be heard to the east. He 
could not be near. If he should come up 
he would not now be in time to alter the 
event of the day. The sun was already low 
in the sky and there could not be more than 
two or three hours of daylight. My mission 
might be dismissed as useless. But here 
was another mission, more pressing, more 
immediate, a mission which meant the safety, 
and perhaps the life, of the Emperor. At 
all costs, through every danger, I must get 
back to his side. But how was I to do it ? 
The whole Prussian army was now between 
me and the French lines. They blocked 
every road, but they could not block the 
path of duty when Etienne Gerard sees it lie 
before him. I could not wait longer. I 
must be gone. 

There was but the one opening to the loft, 
and so it was only down the ladder that I 
could descend. I looked into the kitchen 
and I found that the young surgeon was still 
there. In a chair sat the wounded English 
aide-de-camp, and on the straw lay two 
Prussian soldiers in the last stage of exhaus- 
tion. The others had all recovered and been 
sent on. These were my enemies, and I 
must pass through them in order to gain my 
horse. From the surgeon I had nothing to 
fear ; the Englishman was wounded, and his 
sword stood with his cloak in a corner ; the 
two Germans were half insensible, and their 
muskets were not beside them. What could 
be simpler? I opened the trap door, slipped 
down the ladder, and appeared in the midst 
of them, my sword drawn in my hand. 

What a picture of surprise ! The surgeon, 
of course, knew all, but to the Englishman 
and the two Germans it must have seemed 
that the god of war in person had descended 
from the skies. With my appearance, with 
my figure, with my silver and grey uniform, 
and with that gleaming sword in my 
hand, I must indeed have been a sight 
worth seeing. The two Germans lay petri- 
fied with staring eyes. The English officer 
half rose, but sat down again from weakness, 
his mouth open and his hand on the back of 
his chair. 

" What the deuce ! " he kept on repeating, 
"what the deuce !" 

" Pray do not move," said I ; " I will hurt 
no one, but woe to the man who lays hands 
upon me to stop me. You have nothing to 
fear if you leave me alone, and nothing to 
hope if you try to hinder me. I am Colonel 
Etienne GeQFtgiePllf^Hussars of Conflans." 




u The deuce ! n said the Englishman. " You 
are the man that killed the fox." A terrible 
scowl had darkened his face. The jealousy 
of sportsmen is a base passion. He hated 
me, this Englishman, because I had been 
before him in transfixing the animal How 
different are our natures ! Had I seen him 
do such a deed I would 
have embraced him 
with cries of joy. But 
there was no time for 

u I regret it, sir," said 
I ; " but you have a 
cloak here and I must 
take it," 

He tried to rise from 
his chair and reach 
his sword, but I got 
between him and the 
corner where it lay. 

11 If there is anything 
in the pockets )J 

" A case t " said he, 

"I would not rob 
you," said I ; and 
raising the coat I took 
from the pockets a 
silver flask, a square 
wooden case, and a 
field -glass- All these 
I handed to him. The 
wretch opened the case, 
took out a pistol, and 
pointed it straight at 
my head, 

''Now, my fine 
fellow," said he, "put 
down your sword and 
give yourself up," 

I was so astounded 
at this infamous action 
that I stood petrified before him. I tried 
to speak to him of honour and gratitude, 
but I saw his eyes fix and harden over 
the pistol. 

(i Enough talk ! " said he. " Drop it ! " 

Could I endure such a humiliation ? Death 
were better than to be disarmed in such a 
fashion. The word '* Fire l n was on my lips 
when in an instant the Englishman vanished 
from before my face, and in his place 
was a great pile of hay, with a red-coated 
arm and two Hessian boots waving and 

kicking in the heart of it Oh, the gallant 
landlady ! It was my whiskers that had 
saved me, 

a Fly, soldier, fiy ! " she cried, and she 
heaped fresh trusses of hay from the floor on 
to the struggling Englishman. In an instant 
I was out in the courtyard, had led Vio- 
let te fiom her 
stable, and was 
hark. A 
d past 


from the window, and I saw a furious face 
looking out at me. I smiled my contempt 
and spurred out into the road. The last of 
the Prussians had passed, and both my 
road and my duty lay clear before me. If 
France won, all was well If France lost, 
then on me and on my little mare depended 
that which was more than victory or defeat 
—the safety and the life of the Emperor. 
"On, Etienne, on ! ,J I cried. "Of all your 
noble exploits, the greatest, even if it be 
the last, lies now before you ! * 

{To he continued.) 

by Google 

Original from 

Illustrated Intervieivs. 

Bv Rudolph de Cordova. 

O the readers of The Strand 
Mr, F. C Gould is an old 
friend, for it is now more than 
ten years since, on the invita- 
tion of Mr. 1-L W. Lucy, he 
began illustrating " J/rorn Be- 
hind the Speaker's Chair." Nor need I refer 
here to the fact that Mr. Gould is the most 
prolific cartoonist of our time, seeing that 
four times a week, and sometimes oftener, 
the Westminster Gate tit publishes drawings 
on the political situation from his pen. 

Frmn a Phot* ftfj 


" Political caricature," said Mr. Gould, as 
as he settled down to talk to the readers 
of The Strand through me, M has always 
been an instinct with me ever since the time 
I was a little boy, for I could not have been 
more than ten or eleven when I did my first 
I cannot recall exactly what the subject was, 
but 1 remember it was in connection with a 
Parliamentary election in which the late Sir 
William Eraser was a candidate, and it must 
have been somewhere about the year 18^5, 
for there was a General Election then, 
which resulted in Lord Palnierston becom- 
ing Prime Minister for the first time. 

"In those days I lived in Barnstaple, 
where political feeling ran high and the 
contests were very keen. Those were the 
old days of the hustings and open votings, 

and personalities were much more pungent 
than they are now. Though I cannot recall 
my first cartoon, I remember that one of my 
earliest was connected with a well-known 
sort of primeval vehicle called the donkey 
fly, which was especially patronized by old 
ladies for evening parties. When the election 
to which I have referred came on there was 
naturally a great deal of competition on the 
part of the rival factions to get every vote ; 
and my caricature showed the struggle to 
patronize the donkey and get possession of 

its owner's vote. 

" At school, too, 
I indulged in cari- 
catures, but cau- 
tiously as regards 
the man behind the 
cane. As a rule I 
used the incidents 
which occurred in 
my lessons, espe- 
cially in my classical 

" One man on 
whom I used to 
practise my 'pren- 
tice art a great deal 
was the old gaoler 
of the town gaol in 
Barnstaple, He 
was a character, and 
with a youthfully 
brutal disregard for 
any feelings he may 
have had I used 
l0mm A '™"" ** him as a model on 
which to work. I turned him into animals of 
all kinds, much to his exasperation. At last^ 
when he could stand it no longer, he went 
to the mayor of the town and complained, 
1 Oh, 1 said the mayor, soothingly, l he is only a 
youngster; you mustn't take any notice of it/ 
" ' That ain't the worst of it, sir,' replied the 
gaoler; 'he's been a-caricaturin 1 o' you, too/ 
" My father being an architect I was always 
in the midst of paper and pencils and what I 
may call the machinery of drawing, but some- 
how I never took to architectural work. Nor 
did I ever intend to take up drawing as a 
profession. As a matter of fact, when I was 
sixteen i went into a bank, where 1 remained 
for four years. There I amused myself in 
spare intervals by caricaturing the customers 
as well as the I SiffSrOTf ' Invents in the town. 




At twenty I came to London, and was still 
without any idea of art except as a hobby. I 
went into a stockbroker's office, and subse- 
quently became a member of the Exchange, 
and remained one for over twenty years, 1 
found the Stock 
Exchange a very 
fruitful ground 
indeed for per- 
sonal caricature, 
and an excellent 
school t for there 
was every variety 
of personality 
and very marked 
individua li ty 
among the mem- 
bers. In addi- 
tion, I had the 
ad va ntage of very 
keen and very 
outspoken criti- 
cism. As time 
went on my draw- 
ings became very 
numerous, and 

at last I did a series of sketches and cartoons 
which were published for private circulation, 
and people tell me they may still be seen in 
many offices in the neighbourhood of Thread- 
needle Street and Throgmorton Street 

"After some years I began in 1879 to illus- 
trate the Christmas numbers of Truth, I 
need hardly tell you that I began in a very 
tentative way, or that then I had not 


personal knowledge of the political charac- 
ters with whom 1 dealt which is so necessary 
for the caricaturist. In those days I had to 
depend at first upon photographs, but now 
my studies are always, if possible, made direct 

from the men 
which I am able 
to do in the 
lobby and in the 
Press gallery of 
the House of 
Coin mans. 

l( In the earlier 
numbers of 
Truth my work 
was always in 
black and white ■ 
but later on — 
and I illustrated 
the Christmas 
numbers regu- 
larly until 1895 
—I used colour 
for the chief 
ones. That 
work, which gave me the opportunity of study- 
ing politics more clostly than perhaps I should 
otherwise have done, was the outcome of con- 
sultation with the editor in much the same 
way as, it is generally understood, the cartoons 
In Punch are produced week by week. 

41 The illustration from one of the Christmas 
numbers of Truth represents the late Mr, 
H* S. Marks, R.A.,as a sort of magician, who 






has transformed the whole 
of society into birds. 
Among them may be seen 
Lord Salisbury as a dodo ; 
Lord Halsbury, Sir F. C. 
Eumand, and Air. Lucy 
as penguins ; Lord Roth- 
schild as a golden phea- 
sant; Sir Henry Irving as 
a crane ; Mr. Gladstone 
as an eagle ; Sir William 
Vernon Hareourt as a 
secretary bird; Lord 
Wolseley as a gamecock ; 
I .or d Charles Ber esf ord 
as a sea- gull ; certain of 
the judges as adjutant 
birds ; Sir George Lewis 
as a hawk ; several society 
ladies as birds of various 
kinds suited to their style ; 
and H.R.H. the Duke of 
Cambridge as a turkey- 

"My next public work was for the Pa 11 Mall 
Gazette at about the time of the Parnell 
Commission. Then, when Mr. Stead left 
and Mr. E. 1\ Cook became the editor, I 
contributed a weekly cartoon on political sub- 
jects, though I was not regularly on the staff. 
When the Pali Mall Gazette was sold to Mr. 
Astor and Sir George Newnes started the 
Westminster Gaset/e t which practically took 
over the staff of 
the old Pall 
Altfil, I con- 
tinued as an out- 
side contributor, 
doing Parlia- 
mentary sketch 
work as well until 
Mr. Cook went 
to the Daily 
Ne ws , Mr. 
Spender was 
appointed to 
succeed h inland 
I was appointed 
assistant - editor 
of the IVest- 
minskr^ though 
my principal 
work is the sup- 
plying of the 
cartoons, four of 
which at least 
appear every 

l * C a n you 

reply I 
Topsy, ' 
tike to 


John Eh ll to Porter S-l-s1>ry ; M Where are you taking him ! 

Porter; " 1 a in" l iftktag him anywhere." 

John Bull : '* Well, ihen, where \ he taVinff you?" 

Porter {]y) : '* He ain'i taking me 1 
ilm Bull : lt Tiicn, where i* he ^oinf; "? "" 
trier: " I di>n'i ku iw, He > e.ilcn all his JircCVi'J 


trace the exact circum- 
stances which really deve- 
loped you into a political 
caricaturist ? " I asked. 

" I can't/ 1 replied Mr, 
Gould. u To that ques- 
tion must make the 
always do : like 
I growed.' My 
caricaturing I 
be the doing of 
the thing for which I am 
best suited, even though 
I did not come to it until 
comparatively late in my 
life. It is strange, too, 
to consider bow few men 
start out with the thing 
which they really can do 
best As I have told you, 
I began life with quite 
different ideas; but even 
the time I spent on the 
Stock Exchange was not 
lost, as the caricatures I did there enabled 
me to get an experience which I otherwise 
should never have had I do not know that 
it is often one's youthful ideals are realized, 
but it is certain that if I had hnd my choice 
when I was young I should have selected the 
work I am doing now, the developing of 
political ideas on a daily paper. 

14 It is the working on a daily paper which 

gives me the 
peculiar advan- 
tage I possess in 
dealing with 
politics. I do 
not profess to 
be a first - rate 
draughtsman, so 
the work done 
day by day has 
to depend on its 
presentation of 
an idea in a 
simple concrete 
form rather than 
on the perfection 
of die drawing 
or its wealth of 
detail It is the 
doing of it red- 
hot day by day 
which gives it its 
value in helping 
to form public 
opinion. Indeed, 
the old Latin 







Indeed, as the 
years go by, he 
shows in a very 
marked way a 
growing likeness 
to Lord Salisbury. 
This characteristic 
1 have noticed in 
another way. In 
looking back over 
my old caricatures 
or Mr. Chamber- 
lain they strike ine 
as being very bad, 
for they are quite 
unlike him to-day, 
but people used to 
say at the time 
they were done 
that they were exceedingly like him. This 
shows that even unconsciously to ourselves 
men do change, though they don't appear 

Everybody will remember that favourite 
nonsense rhyme : — 

There was a young lady of Ni^er, 
Who went fur a ride on a tiger* 
They returned from '" critic 
With the lady inside, 
And a smile on the face of the liger* 
That little poem inspired the two drawings 
of Lord Salisbury as the maiden and Mr. 
Chamberlain as the tiger which are shown 
abpve, and you will note the change in the 
appearance of the animal after the ride was 

Several Liberal speakers have, in reference to ihe coalition Vetween Lord Salisbury and Mr, 
Chamberlain, recited the verse* : — 

There wa* an Q d Party of Niger They finished the ride with I hat Party inside 

Who smiled as he rode on a tiger: And the smile on the face of the ilger. 

** Hut the question iV said Mr. Chamberlain, " which h;»s swallowed the other? Ij 

Our artiii gives what he takes to be Mr. Chamberlain's answer. But wc dare say Lord Salisbury 1 ! 
b very different. 

proverb, * Bis drtt qui cito dttff is peculiarly 
applicable to my work if I translate it T ■ You 
give twice the impression if you give it 

"To do this three things are requisite : you 
must be interested in politics, you must have 
a very clear idea of the moral you are trying to 
convey, and you must have the faculty of giving 
a recognisable likeness of the people with 
whom you deah This last had always been 
a strong point of mine, if I may say so 
myself, I could always remember the 
points of a face which make up what is called 
the likeness* That, however, is the faculty 
of perception rather than of execution, for 
one man may in a few lines present 
the spirit of a face, while another 
man, after spending many hours and 
an infinitude of labour, may not give 
anything like a likeness, though, as 
a piece of art, his work is immeasur- 
ably superior to the other 

u The caricaturist is apt to get 
into a groove and, after studying a 
man once, to make his conception a 
stereotyped things instead of realizing 
that with the passage of time a man 
changes in many important par- 
ticulars. I long ago recognised this 
fact, with the result that I am never 
satisfied with my work, and I always 
want to do it better next time. You 
will the better appreciate what I 
mean by the change in a man if you 
take the personality of Mr, Balfour a 
few years ago and that of Mr, Balfour 
tf>day. Then he was exceedingly 
thin, while of late he has been 
putting on flesh, so that the old 
pictures are out of date somewhat, 


Old Pilot : " I 1* on Jet if J <:o jki huve saved her** 




over ^ a drawing which was prophetic of the 
survival of Mr, Chamberlain. 

11 How," I asked, "are your cartoons 

11 The subject is naturally first selected. This 

political point, and I have to strengthen that 
side of my picture or elaborate it in some 
way. Still j the more simple a cartoon is the 
better ; for the more quickly you can strike 
the eye of the person looking at it, and he 

"Wat sorter seasonttT dye sajjishuate Fse g winter cook you with?"" he Brer Fox, MM*, 

Brer Rabbit up en lay be dun/ wantcr be cook'tl \ all. 

Brer Vox. he ^\\ hh loof. ** Youer gtttin 1 way from de point. Brer Rabbit/' me Brer For, sezee* 

I do in consultation with the editor, when we 
are discussing the attitude of the paper on the 
chief subject of Lhe day. Sometimes a line 
in a statesman's speech, 
which lends itself to illustra- 
tion will be selected, U hen, 
however, there is no pictorial 
suggestion supplied in this 
way we sit down and work 
out the political situation 
from the point of view we 
desire to express. 
One h;is to bear 
in mind that the 
doing of a poli- 
tical cartoon is 
something like 
making a mili- 
tary fortification, 
for one has to 
protect the weak 
points. Very 
often, or, at all 
events, not infre- 
quently, I find 
that the design I 
first make lays 
me open on some 

Mr. Chambkwlain ami Sir Alfred Milmvk 
iquealing ' Suzerainty V 

Brer Rabbit ; Ai I caft'l help squealing, you squeeze me 30 hfirr! ' 

by ^OOglC 

can see what you are driving ar, the more 
effective your work is likely to l>e. 

" During the war, with which several of the 
cartoons naturally deal, I 
represent Mr. Jvruger either 
as Brer Rabbit, who dis- 
played so much * Dutch 
rural simplicity/ or as a 
tortoise. The rabbit idea 
is, you will notice, carried 
out in two of the drawings 
which were pub- 
lished at the time 
when Mr. Cham- 
berlain and I ,ord 
M i I n e r were 
squeezing Fresi- 
den t K ru^er 
towards the end 
of the negotia- 
tions. My reason 
for selecting the 
tortoise was that 
Mr. Kruger him- 
self was very 
fond of using it 
as a simile, and 
on one occasion, 

Why do you keep on 




Tub Liok : *' Come out f 

The Qom Tortoise : u Come od I ' 

speaking of the raiders, he said : * You have 
got to wait till the tortoise puts his head 
out before you can cut it off. 3 One of the 
illustrations recalls the Tugela deadlock. 
The lion wanted the Kruger tortoise to come 
out, while the Kruger tortoise retaliated by 
challenging the lion to come on. 

"My editorial work occupies me all the 
morning, but at about half-past twelve I 
begin my drawing, and an ordinary cartoon 
takes a good three hours* hard work, I draw 
one afternoon for the next morning's paper, 
but when I go down to the House the 
sketches I draw in the evening appear in the 
next day T s paper, as I send them off at once 
to be reproduced*" 

" Do you think that the influence of cari- 
catures in politics is increasing?" I asked, 

" Undoubtedly I 
do/' said Mr* Gould. 
" They have been play- 
ing a larger part in 
politics than they have 
ever done before* 
They do so by giving 
people who do not 
care to read very 
much, the situation at 
a glance. So great has 
been their effect that 
I have been told that 
some of my cartoons 
have had an influence 
at elections. The 
neatest compliment I 
have ever had paid to 
my work happened 
during the last General 
Election. One of my 

cartoons was 
enlarged and ex- 
h i b i t e d as a 
poster by the 
Liberal candi- 
date, A Con- 
servative hap- 
pened to see the 
poster, tore it 
down, and pro- 
ceeded to dance 
on it This was 
a valuable hint, 
so the Liberals 
sent off for large 
supplies of that 
particular car- 
toon and posted 
them all over the 
town* When my 
cartoons are used in this way they are often 
reproduced in colour so as to make them 
more effective. 

(l It is not only in politics that the power 
of the cartoonist can be felt, for, since 
you compel me to talk of myself, and only 
of myself, I recall that certain of my work 
has been referred to in sermons- One 
such occasion was when a few years ago 
young Mr, Joseph Inciter tried to make a 
corner in wheat, and Archdeacon Wil be rforce, 
at St* Margaret's, Westminster, referred to a 
drawing of mine which appeared on the 
subject in the Westminster Gazette, and 
pointed out how a caricature may be of 
great good when it deals with an evil which 
can often he best affected by satire, 

" A caricature, indeed, should do in lines 

Wheat— A Cabtoqh *akm -k\* m<i[>e tiik Supjbct of k Sbpmon* 




what a leader-writer does in words, but the 
draughtsman has the advantage over his com- 
rade in that he can put his ideas so that they 
can be seen at a glance without the trouble 
of reading, and he can also lie in wait and 
find out the 
anomalies and 
in his opponent's 
arguments, and 
demon strate 
them in a way 
which would not 
strike ordinary 
people in mere 
words, or, at all 
events, would 
not strike them 
so quickly. 

" You want to 
know the effect 
of one's work 
on the people 
we caricature ? 
Well, so far as 
I can tell, I 
have never yet 
found anyone 
who resented it 
One great reason 
is that one 
keeps malice 
out of one's 
drawing, as, in 
my opinion, the 
malicious would 
lose his point. 
wrong has been 

Conductor of the MINISTERIAL Omniums \ " 1 axn ah aiti^ ma am, ihere 
isn't room inside for all oT you. How many' of ymi an; ihrre t " 

Passenger : " There's only me, and my 1 11 tie ooy, and ihis kind grntkman 
(Mr. P-w-11 \V.ll--rn>) T ami my little dog. Von really musL make room, 
Mr. Conductor: some of the gendrmen must get outside." 

introduction of anything 
cause the caricaturist to 

If a statesman thinks a 
done him in a cartoon I 

have found he resents it less than if a wrong 
argument had been used against him in 
words, or iT he had been 
misrepresented in that 
tvay. As an example of 
the attitude of ilu* people 
caricatured towards the 
caricaturist, I may refer 
to the fact that on one 
occasion Mr. Chamber- 
lain sent me his photo- 
graph with * From the 
real Chamberlain to the 
author of the fictitious 
Chamberlain' written 
on the back, You may 
have heard that in 
acknowledging the re- 
ceipt I wrote that ' it is 
difficult to discriminate 
between the two.' I 

assure you I never wrote that or anything 
of the kind. Someone, perhaps, thought 1 
ought to have said it, and fathered the witti- 
cism on me. ' Sir/ Dr, Johnson would 
have said, ' in order to be facetious it is not 

necessary to be 
rude. 1 

4< Personally, I 
may express my 
appreciation of 
the great cour- 
tesy which I 
have always re- 
ceived from my 
political oppo- 
nents. Perhaps 
that is because 
I have always 
rem em be red 
what Izaak Wal- 
ton said, l Put 
your worm on 
the hook as if 
you loved him/ 
and I have 
always done that 
with regard to 
those opposed 
to me politically. 
u Yes, since 
you will force 
this admission, 
1 must admit 
that several poli- 
ticians have collected my cartoons, and I am 
told that Lord Rosebery has many of them* 
His favourite is, I believe, the family 'bus, 
which came out during the election of 1895, 
and represented Lord Salisbury as the 'bus 
conductor and Mr, Chamberlain as a lady who 

by Google 

Tit* Tonroistc Looks Out.— " Who said 'Bobs"?" 




wanted to get in, and when told there was no 
room declared that some of the gentlemen 
inside must get out to make room for her 


Mk. Balfous : " Fancy! Ridley t they've actual iy got horses 1 " 

Sir M. W. Ridley * * E And look f Art h lit p they're got rifles too ! What a shame to deceive us I " 

and her parly. The original of that cartoon 
Lord Rosebery has, 

"The political cartoonist, of course, needs 
a wide field of reference, for lie must find i 
great many pegs on which to hang his ideas, 
so as to get the necessary variety in their 
presentation. Thus in reading any book, no 
matter what, I keep my eyes open to the 
possibilities of adaptation. The turning of 
men into animals has always been a favourite 
device for pointing a moral, and I follow 
good precedents when I use Reynard 
or Brer Rabbit or other natural history folk- 
lore models. 

"A good parody of a 
well-known picture is, as a 
rule, popular if not too 
intricate, and I have often 
used this method, as in 
the political Struwwelpeter, 
in which I collaborated 
with Mr, Harold Begbie. 
Another form of parody, 
or rather adaptation, is my 
*Froi ss art's Modern 
Chronicles,' which closely 
follows the style of the 
chronicles of Sir John 
Froissart. From the time 
I was quite a little boy 
this was one of my favourite 
books, partly on account of 
its adventures and partly 

on account of its pictures, and it occurred tc 
me that it would be quaint and interesting 
to write modern political history in the 

fourteenth - century 
atmosphere and 
style. To parody 
well you must 
saturate yourself 
with the original, 
otherwise the spirit 
is lacking, I was 
pleasantly surprised 
to find that the 
bo>jk had a far 
greater success than 
I had anticipated, 
for I did not know 
that Froissart was 
remembered to any 
great extent in 
these daysj though 
one or two good 
editions of his work 
have been brought 
out lately." 

M I suppose,' 1 I 
interposed, "you frequently get ideas for 
cartoons from contributors ? " 

"Frequently/' replied Mr. Gould, "I am 
inundated with them, but I find they are 
only rarely of any use. In the first place, the 
sense of one's own initiative is a valuable 
incentive, and I should, perhaps, lose to 
some extent the spirit of the work if it did 
not come from within myself. In the next 
place the kindly contributors of suggestions 
often have no sense of proportion, 1 can 
give you an example of this. I do not 
remember the occasion which inspired it, 



(With Apolog^s to Iktwt l.) 




The Lone. 1-ong Furrow, 

Lord Roselsery is % bere shown ploughing his lonely furrow^ which was his own simile, 
and natural- y ^uggrsted Robinson Crusoe. 

" 1 must plough my furrow alone. That is my fate + agteeafale or the reverse, hut before 
! gel to the end of the furrow il is possible that 1 may find myself not a one," — Lord 
RoseLitryat the City Liberal Club, July igtn, ropi. 

Mr. Gibson Bowles on Monday evening in the House of Commons, dfire/wt of Lord 
RoKebery'* position, from Cowper & lines on Alexander Selkirk : — 

I am out of humanity's re a< h, Never hear the sweet music of speech— 
1 must finish my journey alone ; 1 start at tbe sound of my own, 

(Our artist declines tn say whose U the footprint on the sand) 

but I remember the suggestions. The back- 
ground was to be Westminster Abbey, one 
portion of which was to be a butler's pantry, 
showing the Dean polishing pieces of plate, 
each of which was to have a label on il If 
you will consider for a moment, without going 
any farther, the (act that the labels were to be 
large enough for what was written on them 
to be distinctly visible, you will see at once 
how difficult it would be to get in much to 
indicate Westminster Abbey. That, how- 
ever, was not the end of 
the puzzle problem, for 
outside the Abbey there 
was to be a pantechnicon 
van with a label on the 
side* But the van was to 
be drawn at the same 
time in such a way that 
you could also see the 
inside of it, and on rows 
of shelves there were to be 
jars, also plainly labelled. 
The whole idea was a 
shrieking nightmare of 
distorted proportions and 
lunatic asylum perspective. 

II Many of the sugges- 
tions, again t which I 
receive take the old con- 
ventional form of people 
with circular heads and 
triangular bodies, and with 
balloons issuing from their 

mouths inscribed with 
complicated legends. All 
these suggestions I grate- 
fully acknowledge as 
prompted by kindness, but 
as a rule they are either 
so obscure as not to be 
obvious, or so obvious as 
to encourage actions for 

"One of the drawings 
of Lord Rose be ry depicts 
him in the act of plough- 
ing the famous furrow. 
As he described it as- his 
lonely furrow, I have 
represented him as Robin- 
son Crusoe on his desert 
island. Of course, the 
mysterious footprint had 
to appear somewhere, that 
solitary one which has 
puzzled so many people, 
because Friday was not a 
one-legged man* But whose 
footprint it is that appears in the cartoon I 
leave to imagination. Some have said it is 
Mr. Haldane's, and others that it is Mr. 

"Another picture is one 



a sort 
gymkhana or *all animals race' series, in 
which each competitor has to be in charge 
of a different animal. In this one I^ord 
Rosebery won't be led by anyone, though 
there are a large numher of willing hands 
stretched out to grasp the guiding-string." 

On R of a series of + ' all animals' 

gymkhana races, 
pet hoi " 
in the 

Rosebery is represented going; by 
himself, attlmusrh many hands jire eager to pel hold of tbe string. 
,l The Penguin starts on his own account in the l all animals' race, and ht d esn't want 

.nvo„e. i. kjib e ,mng.' Original from 





Mr. Gould invariably goes abroad during 
his holidays, but he does not forget to take 
his eyes or his pencil with him, in witness 
whereof I am permitted to caU attention 
to the exquisitely humorous drawing of four 
taking each 
other home 
with a good 
deal of 4i the 
clang of the 

The room 
in which 
Mr. Gould 
received me 
is, it is per- 
fectly safe to 
say, unique. 
It was car- 
r i e d out 
fro m h i s 
own design, and some of its decoration is the 
work of his own hands. He calb it his Frois- 
sart room. The ceiling is divided into panels, 
and the intersections are ornamented with 
coats -of-arms of the Knights of the Garter of 
the fourteenth century mentioned in Froissart, 
whilst a plaque on the wood-canopied mantel 
represents the ll Combat des Trentes," which 
is also mentioned in Froissart. The dis- 
tinctive decoration of the room is the frieze, 
which is an adaptation of the Ellesmere 
figures of the Canter- 
bury Pilgrims, The 
background is a warm 
terra-cotta, and on it 
the figures are super- 
imposed. Instead of 
being painted on the 
wall, they were drawn 
and coloured on 
paper by Mr. Gould 
himself. They were 
then cut out and 
pasted in their place. 
This method, in addi- 
tion to its simplicity, 
gives a clearness and 
sharpness which could 

"The Clang of thb Woodew 5hww,' 

not have been so well obtained in any other 
way. The *' Pilgrims," who occupy the whole 
of one side of the room, represent the chief 
members of His Majesty's Government in 
the days before it was reconstituted, The 

figure, as 
one might 
expect, is 
that of the 
Right Hoiv 
la i n on a 
gall o pi ng 
steed or "a 
horse," as 
Mr. Gould 
describes it. 
He is fol- 
lowed by 
comes Mr, 


Lord Salisbury, after whom 
Balfour, carrying a golf club, 
the Duke of Devonshire, looking more than 
three parts asleep, the condition in which he 
is invariably represented by the caricaturists, 
and, happiest of happy touches^ he is seated 
on a heavy and somnolent horse. The Lord 
Chancellor, looking like the Wife of Bath, 
follows the Duke and is succeeded by Sir 
Michael Hicks-Beach, holding tightly to his 
Exchequer bag and looking very u black " 

over his shoulders at 
the Minister of War, 
who is following close 
behind him with an 
eye clearly directed to 
the money-bags. 

The whole of the 
foregoing illustra- 
tions, with the ex- 
ception of those on 
pages 14 and 15 
and the book-plate, 
are reproduced 
here by the kind 
permission of the 
Proprietor of the 
Westminster Gazette. 

F. eMRHVTK€K5 qOVLfl . 

Mil Goulds Book- Plate— From a Design by Himself, 

by IjOOglC 


A Girl Who Couldrit % 

By Richard Marsh. 

AM almost perfectly happy ; 
but an unfaltering regard for 
the strict truth compels me to 
state that I am not quite. I 
wish I could conscientiously 
say that I was.- But I can- 
not. I am aware that when a girl is engaged 
— especially when she is just engaged — her 
happiness ought to be flawless. And mine 

was until 

However, perhaps I had better come to 
the point. 

It is not my fault if I cannot do every- 
thing. I can do some things. When I 
turn the matter over in my mind system- 
atically, I feel justified in asserting that I 
can do a good many things. It is a well- 
known scientific fact that a Jack of all 
trades is master of none. Therefore it 
seems to me to follow as a matter of course 
that, because I can do the things which I 
can do, I cannot do the things which I can- 
not do. Nothing could be simpler or more 
obvious. We cannot all of us be Admirable 
Crichtons. And it is just as well that we 
cannot. And yet, merely on that account, 
I have lately suffered — well, I have suffered 
a good deal. 

Nothing could have given me greater 
pleasure than the knowledge that Charlie 
had a mother and two sisters. When Mrs. 
Godwin — that is, his mother — wrote and said 
that Charlie had told her about the under- 
standing he and I had come to— that she 
would very much like to know her dear son's 
future wife, so would I spend a few days 
with her in her cottage on the Thames, I 
was delighted. There was a note from each 
of his sisters, Bertha and Margaret, echoing 
their mother's words, and that also was very 
nice. I sat down then and there and replied 
to them all three, arranging to go to them on 
the Tuesday following. I had to go without 
Charlie. He was to have gone with me; 
and, of course, I had looked forward to our 
journey together in the train. But, at the 
last moment, he telegraphed to say that busi- 
ness detained him in town ; would I go down 
without him, and he would join us on the 
morrow. I went without him. And on the 

Digitized by VjOOglC 

whole I think I bore up very well, espe- 
cially considering that, just as the train was 
starting from Paddington, a woman got into 
my carriage with two dogs, a parrot in a 
huge cage, bundles of g©Jf * clubs, hockey 
clubs, tennis rackets, fishing rods, and good- 
ness only knows what besides ; her belong- 
ings filled the whole of her own side of the 
compartment and most of mine. The last 
of them was being hustled in as the train 
was actually moving. As she was depositing 
them anywhere and anyhow — I never saw 
anyone treat her belongings with scantier 
ceremony — she observed : — 

" I cut that rather fine. Don't believe in 
getting to the station before the train is 
ready to start ; but that was a bit of a 

It was a " bit of a shave " ; the marvel 
was that she succeeded in catching the train 
at all. I, disliking to be bustled, had been 
there a good twenty minutes before it started, 
so, although she might not have been aware 
of it, there was a flavour of something about 
her remark which was very nearly personal. 

It was only after we had gone some dis- 
tance that the dogs appeared — not a little to 
my amazement. One of them — which came 
out of a brown leather hand-bag— was one 
of those long-bodied, short-legged creatures 
which always look as if they were deformed. 
The other — a small, black animal, with curly 
hair — she took out of the pocket of the 
capacious coat which she was wearing. 
Directly she placed it on the floor of the 
carriage it flew at me as if filled with a 
frenzied desire to tear me to pieces. While 
it was doing its best to bark itself hoarse its 
owner removed a green cover from the 
parrot's cage, whereupon the bird inside 
commenced to make a noise upon its own 
account, as if with the express intention of 
urging that sooty fragment to wilder exer- 
tions. That compartment was like a minia- 
ture pandemonium. 

" Don't let them worry you," remarked the 
mistress of the travelling menagerie. 

But as she made not the slightest attempt 
to stop their worrying me I did not quite 

understand what she expected I was going to 

\ f ri in i ii n r r i '. pi 1 1 

1 1 '_ 1 1 1 1 '.i i ii • . n 1 1 



2 5 

M ' DON T I. 


do. When the black dog got the hem of my 
skirt into its mouth and began to pull at it 
with its tiny teeth I did remonstrate, 

ik I'm afraid your dog will tear my dress." 

u Not she ! It's only her fun ; she won't 
hurt you." 

I was not afraid of the creature hurting 
me, but my skirL The mistress's calmness 
was sublime, Suffering her minute quadruped 
to follow — without the smallest effort to 
control it — its own quaint devices, she was 
serenely attaching a new tip to a billiard-cue 
which she had taken out of a metal case. 
As if she felt that her proceedings might 
impress me with a sense of strangeness, she 
proffered what she perhaps meant to be an 

"Always tip my own cue, I've got a 
cement which sticks, and I like my tip to be 
just so. If you want to be sure of your cue, 
tip it yourself." 

Presently my Liliputian assailant passed 
from unreasonable antagonism to a warmth 
of friendship which was almost equally di* 
concerting. Springing, after one or two 
failures, on to the carriage seat, it deposited 
itself in the centre of my lap, nearly knocking 
my book out of my hands; and without a 
with your leave or by your leave, but with 

V„.„v.-4. Djg 

the most take-it- 
for gran ted air im- 
aginable, prepared 
for slumber. Per- 
ceiving which the 
short-legged dog t 
descending, in its 
turn, to the floor 
of the carriage, 
began to prowl 
round and round 
me, sniffing at my 
skirts in a manner 
which almost sug- 
gested that there 
was something 
about me which 
was not altogether 
nice. All of a 
sudden the parrot, 
which bad been 
taking an uncon- 
cealed interest in 
the proceedings, discovered a 
surprising, and hitherto wholly 
unsuspected, capacity for speech, 
4t Don't be a fool ! " he said 
Whether the advice was 
addressed to me or to the short- 
legged dog, I could not say. 
But it was so unexpected, and was uttered 
with so much clearness, and was such an 
extremely uncivil thing to utter, that I quite 
jumped in my seat. The lady with the 
billiard-cue made a comment of her own : — 

"That bird's a magnificent talker, and 
that's his favourite remark." 

When we stopped at my station, a girl, 
coming up to the carriage door, began 
showering welcomes on my companion and 
her creatures with a degree of fluency which 
pointed to an intimate acquaintance with all 
of them* 

"Halloa, Fat, so you've come! Halloa, 
Tar!" — this was to the small black animal. 
" Halloa, Stumps I" — this was to the short- 
legged dog. " Halloa, Lord Chesterfield ! " 
— this was to that excessively rude parrot, 
who promptly acknowledged the greeting by 
rejoining : 

" Don't be a fool ! " 

Then, seeing that I was only waiting for 
the removal of some of the impedimenta to 
enable me to get out, the girl exclaimed : — 

"Are you Nelly Heywoud ? r ' 1 admitted 
that I was. " Tm Bertha Godwin ; 
awfully glad to see you + This is Miss 
Patricia Reeves — commonly known as Pat. 
Great luck your coining down together in the 




same compartment ; you'll be as intimate as 
if you'd known each other for years," 

I was not so sure of that More, I 
doubted if Miss PaLricia Reeves and I ever 
should be intimate, as I understood intimacy. 
Still worse, I was disposed to be dubious if 
Miss Reeves's bosom friend could ever be 

A pony phaeton was waiting outside the 
station with another girl in it. This proved 
to be Margaret Godwin. She welcomed 
Pat — and Pat's etceteras — with as much 



effusion as her sister had done. There was 
a discussion as to what was to happen. 
Since the phaeton would hold at most three, 
somebody would have to walk. Miss Reeves 
insisted on being the someone, and she and 
Bertha immediately set off at what struck me 
as being a good five miles an hour. Until 
then 1 had supposed myself to be no bad 
pedestrian for a mere girl, but when I saw 
the style in which those two were covering 
the ground I was glad that I had been per* 
milted to ride, 

Margaret conversed on matters of which 
I, for the most part* knew little, and up 
to that moment had cared less. She talked 
of golf, inquiring, in an offhand sort of 

,:e<J by &OOgIe 

way, what my " handicap " was ; evidently 
taking it for granted that, in common with 
the rest of the world, I had a "handicap," 
I do not know what I answered ; because, as 
it happened, not only was I without that 
plainly desirable appurtenance, but I did not 
even know what she meant Hitherto golf 
had not come into my life at all. But, for- 
tunately, she chattered on at such a rate that 
she was able to pay no attention to what 
I said ; so that it did not matter what I 
answered It appeared that she had recently 
been playing a "tie," or a 
"match," or a "game," or 
a "round," or a " skittle/ J 
or something — I do not 
know which it was, but 
I am almost certain it 
was one or the other — 
with a Mrs, Chuckit— I am 
sure of the name because it 
was such an odd one — 
in which, it seemed, she 
an unparalleled series of 
disasters. From what I could gather she had 
been " stymied " and " bunkered " and lt up " 
and "down" and "holed" and "foozled" 
and " skied " and " approached " and 
M driven," and all sorts of dreadful things. 
At least, I believe they were dreadful things ; 
and, indeed, from the emphatic way in which 
she spoke of them, I am convinced they 
were. One thing of which she told me I 
am sure must have been painful. She said 
that she got into a hedge — a "beast of a 
hedge " she called it — though how, or why, 
she got into it she did not explain ; and that 
no sooner did she get out of it — "which 
took some doing," so it shows it must 
have been painful — than back she went "bang 
into the middle" of it again, which seemed 
such a singular thing for anyone to do that, 
had she not been speaking with such earnest- 
rtess and such vigour, I should almost have 
suspected her of a desire to Like advantage 
of my innocence, Then, she admitted, she 
had lost her temper, which was not lo be 
wondered at, If anyone had thrown me or 
" got " me into a hedge anyhow, I should 
have lost mine right straight off. The moral 
of it seemed to be that " the last hole cost 
her seventeen"; though seventeen what— 
whether pounds or shillings — she did not 
mention, nor what manner of hole it could 
have been that she should have been so set 
on getting it at apparently any price. It was 
all double Dutch to me + But she rattled on 
at such a rate that I hoped to be able to 
conceal my ignorance, for I felt that if she 




discovered it I should drop in her estimation 

like the mercury in the thermometer which 

is transferred from hot water into cold. 

Suddenly, however, she began to ask me 

questions which sent cold shivers up and 

down my back. What cleeks had I got? 

Whose " mashie " did I use? Did I care for 

a " beelless *' cleek ? 

I fumbled with the inquiries somehow, 

until she put one which 1 had to answer, 
" Do you do much with a brassey spoon ?" 
She looked at me with her grey eyes, 

which made me feel as if I was in the 

witness- box and she was cross-examiner. I 

did not do much with a 

M brassey spoon," Indeed, 

I did nothing. I had no 

idea what anyone could 

do. In fact, until that 

second I had not been 

aware that spoons were 

ever made of brass. And, 

anyhow, what part spoons 

of any kind played in the 

game of golf I had not 

the dimmest notion. But 

I was not going to give 

myself away at a single 

bound ; I was not quite 

so simple as tha 

thought for a 

moment, then I 

answered : — 
" I suppose 

that I do about 

as much as other 

As a n on- com- 
mittal sort of 
answer I thought 
it rather neat ; 
but I was not so 
clear in my own 
mind as I should 
have liked to 
have been as to 
what was the im- 
pression which 
it made upon 
Margaret, She 
looked at me 
in a way which 
made me wonder if she suspected. 

Luckily, before she was able to corner me 
again we came to the house. In the hall a 
bdy met us whose likeness to Charlie was so 
great that it affected me with something like 
a shock. She was his replica in petticoats. 
In his clothes she might easily have passed 

Diqilized by vji 



as his elder brother. It was Mrs* Godwin, 
She took both my hands in hers— standing 
in front of her relatively I was a mere mite 
— and looked me up and down. 

"There isn't much of you, and you're 
ridiculously young." 

"The first fault, I am afraid, is incurable. 
But the second I can grow out of. Many 
people do." 

She laughed, and took me in her arms — 
literally lifted me off my feet — and kissed 
me. It was humiliating, but I did not seem 
to mind it from her; 1 had a sort of feeling 
she was nice. As I looked at her I under- 
stood how it was 
that she had two 
such athletic 
Charlie had 
never struck me 
as being particu- 
larly athletic, 
though he was 
so big and broad. 
But as I talked 
to his mother I 
began to realize 
with a sinking 
heart how little 
I knew of him 
after all. 

1 cannot say 
that when I got 
into my bed- 
room I felt very 
ecstatic. With- 
out an unusual 
degree of exer- 
tion I could have 
cried. But, thank goodness ! I had 
sense enough not to do that 

When 1 went down to tea I found 
that Hertha and Miss Reeves had 
arrived, and the luggage and the 
creatures. The Godwins had crea- 
tures of their own — dogs and birds 
galore. Among the latter was one 
which I afterwords learnt was a 
jay, It made the most ridiculous 
noises, so that I felt that Lord 
Chesterfield was justified in fixing 
it with his stony gaze and in observ- 
with serious and ceaseless reiteration : — 
Don't be a fool I " 
The conversation immediately got into 
channels which I would much rather it had 
kept out of. Bertha begnn it. 

"Nelly, you've just come in time. There's 
going to &j §jfiing- song on the island to- 





night, and as I'm getting up the programme 
I hope you'll turn out to be a gem of the 
first water. What'll you do ? " 

I did not know what a " sing-song " was. 
Bertha explained : " A sing-song ? Oh, a 
kind of a sort of a concert, informal, free 
and easy, don't you know. All the river 
people turn up on the island— they bring 
their own illuminations — then some of us do 
things to amuse them. Will you give us a 
banjo solo ? " 

" I'm afraid I don't play the banjo." 

" Not play the banjo ? I thought every- 
one could make a row on the banjo. Can't 
you play it enough to accompany your own 
singing ? " 

" I'm afraid I don't sing." 

" Don't sing ? Then what do you do ? " 

" I bar recitations "; this was Miss Reeves. 

" I don't care what you bar," retorted 
Bertha. " I'm going to recite — at least, I'm 
going to do a sort of a sketch with George 

" I don't call that reciting." 

" It wouldn't make any difference if you 

I was rapidly beginning to learn that these 
people had a candid way of addressing each 
other which, to a stranger, was a little 

" The question is, Nelly, what shall I put 
you down for? Will you give us a dance?" 

" A dance ? I don't know what you 

" A cake-walk, or a skirt-twirl, or a few 
steps — anything." 

" Do you mean will I dance, all by 
myself, in front of a lot of strangers ? " 

" Yes ; why not ? Everybody does, if they 

" I cannot, thank you." 

" Then what can you do ? " 

" I have no parlour tricks." 

"No what?" 

" I have no parlour tricks." 

I ought to have been warned by the tone 
in which Bertha put her inquiry ; but I did 
not notice it until it was too late. Directly 
I had repeated my assertion I realized that I 
had said something which it would, perhaps, 
have been better left unsaid. They all 
exchanged glances in that exasperating way 
which some people have when they wish to 
telegraph to each other something which is 
not precisely flattering to you. Miss Reeves 
laughed outright ; Bertha drummed with her 
fingers on her knee ; Margaret observed me 
with her keen grey eyes ; while Mrs. Godwin 

Digitized by L^OOgle 

" Isn't that one of those things, Nelly, 
which one would rather have expressed 
differently ? Because, hereabouts, we rather 
pride ourselves on our capacity for what you 
call parlour tricks, and were not even aware 
that they were ' parlour tricks ' in the oppro- 
brious sense which you seem to suggest. I 
have always myself tried to acquire a smat- 
tering of as many of what I fancied were 
the minor accomplishments as I could, and 
I have always endeavoured — sometimes at 
the cost of a good deal of money— to induce 
my girls to acquire them, too. I have never 
felt that a woman was any the worse for 
being able to do things for the amusement — 
if not for the edification — of her friends." 

I had not been so snubbed since I had 
been long-frocked, and to think that it 
should have been by Charlie's mother ! I 
fancy that I blushed in a perfectly preposter- 
ous manner, and I know that I went hot and 
cold all over, and I tried to wriggle out of 
the mess into which I had got myself. 

" I only wish I could do things, but I 
can't. I never have been among clever 
people, and I'm so dreadfully stupid. Hasn't 
Charlie told you ? " 

" Charlie has told us nothing, except — 
you know what. But Charlie himself is a 
past - master of all sorts of parlour tricks. 
Don't you know so much of him as that ?" 

Of course I did ; I resented the suggestion 
that I did not. I was commencing to get 
almost cross with Charlie's mother. I was 
perfectly aware that there was nothing which 
Charlie could not do, and do well, better 
than anyone else. But it had not occurred 
to me that therefore his relations, and even 
his acquaintances, were all-round experts also. 
And I was not by any means sure that I 
appreciated the fact now, if it was a fact. 
It was not pleasant to feel that in what were 
here plainly regarded as essentials I should 
show to such hideous disadvantage. I should 
practically be out of everything ; and no girl 
likes to be that, especially when her lover's 
about. Before long Charlie would be com- 
paring me to everybody else, and thinking 
nothing of me at all. 

It is possible that my doleful visage— I 
am convinced that it had become doleful — 
moved Margaret to sympathy. Anyhow, she 
all at once jumped up, and — I have no doubt 
with the best will in the world — by way of 
making things easier for me promptly pro- 
ceeded to make them worse. 

"Come along, Nelly, let's have some 
tennis. Run upstairs and put your shoes 



14 My shoes ? What shoes ? M 

M Why, your tennis shoes." 

u My tennis shoes? I — I'm afraid I 
haven't brought any tennis shoes/* 

" Not brought any tennis shoes ? But, of 
course, you do play tennis?" 

The question was put in such a way as to 
infer that if I did not then I must be a sorry 
specimen of humanity indeed, But, as it 
happened, I did play tennis ; at least; after a 
fashion. We had what was called a tennis- 
lawn at home, the condition of which may be 
deduced from the fact that I had never 
imagined that it would be inadvisable to play 
on it in hobnailed boots if anyone so desired, 

" Of course I play ; but-— I haven't 
brought any particular shoes. Won't these 

I protruded 
one of those 
which I had on. 
Margaret could 
not have seemed 
more startled if 
I had shown her 
a bare foot 

" Those! Why, 
they've got heels/' 

Miss Reeves 
went a good deal 

* 4 And such 
heels 1 My dear 
girl " — fancy her 
calling me her 
dear girl I Such 
impertinence ! — 
*'sane people 
don't wear those 
Royal roads to 
deformity nowa- 
days ; they wear 
shoes like these." 

She displayed 
a pair of huge, 
sq uare-toed, 
shapeless, heel- 
less, thick- soled 

monstrosities, into which nothing would ever 
have induced me to put my feet. I said so 

"Then I'm glad that I'm not sane. 
Sooner than wear things like that Pd go 
about in my stockings, I don't believe that 
mine are Royal or any other roads to 
deformity — they fit me beautifully; but, at 
any rate, yours are deformities ready-made." 

I did not intend to allow myself to be 
snubbed by Miss Reeves without a struggle* 

She was no relative of Charlie's, But she 
might just as well have been ; because, with 
one accord, they all proceeded to take her 

"My dear Nelly," said Margaret, speaking 
as if hers were the last words which could be 
said, "you are wrong. In shoes like yours 
you're a prisoner. You mayn't be conscious 
of it, and you won't be till you try others. 
Then you'll find out, and you'll be sorry that 
you didn't find out before. I want to be 
mistress of my feet ; I doivt want to he their 
servant. I wear shoes like Pat, and nothing 
wuuld induce me to wear any other kind ; I 
know better," 

"And I 9 " echoed her mother and sister. 

There they were, all three displaying — with 


artual gusto shoes which were facsimiles 
of those worn by Miss Reeves. They were 
probably the productions of the same expert 
in ugliness, 

" Vou won't be able to do anything really 
comfortably till you wear them too ; then 
you'll tell yourself what a goose you were 
not to have pone in for them ages ago. But 
you'll find Charlie'!! soon win you into the 
ways of wisdom/ 1 

Charlie (frfaWHal f fe i^rfiould like to see 




Charlie even dare to try, If I could not 
wear, without argument, shoes to please 
myself, then 

1 imagine that Margaret perceived, from 
the expression of my countenance, that she 
had gone a little too far 4 because she said, in 
quite a different tone of voice ; — 

u Never mind about shoes. Play in those 
you have on, and I'll tell Jackson to give the 
lawn an extra roll in the morning." 

If I had been wise I should have taken 
the reference to Jackson as a hint and 
slipped out of playing. But my back was a 
wee bit up, 
and I was a 
little off my 
balance, so 
I played. 
Of course, 
1 m a d e a 
spectacle of 
myself. It 
did make 
me so wild. 

and Mar 
garet said 
they would 
play Miss 
Reeves and 
me — which 
I did not 
like, to begin 
with. Under 
the circum- 
stances 1 felt 
that one of 
them might 
have offered 
to take me 
as a partner. 
They might 
mencing to 


have seen that I was com- 
regard Miss Reeves as if 
she were covered with prickles. Besides 
which, considering what I imagined I had 
come there for, and the position which I 
was shortly to occupy in the family, it did 
seem to me that they ought not to have 
paired me with a stranger But, as they 
evidently preferred to play together, they 
plainly did not think it worth their 
while to study my tastes for a moment, 
So I was as sugary to Miss Reeves as 
I could be. 

( ' 1 am afraid you have a very bad partner," 
I observed. 

(L I don't mind," she was kind enough to 
replv. " I expect you're one of those dark 

Digitized by *j< 

horses who are better than they choose to 
make out." 

I tried to be, but I failed ignominiously. 
I do declare that I am not always so bad as I 
was then. But, as I have said, I was a little 
off my balance, and all 1 could do was to 
make an idiot of myself. Bertha served 
first ; my partner suggested I should take 
her service. I took it ; or, rather, I didn't 
take it Bertha sent the balls so fast that I 
could scarcely see them ; and then there was 
such a twist on them, or whatever you call 
the thing, that 1 could not have hit them 

anyhow. I 
did not hit 
them ; not 

balls!" I 
when Bertha 
had made 
an end. 

14 Y o u 
seem to find 
them so." 

My part- 
ner spoke 
with such 
excessi v e 
dryness that 
I could have 
hit her with 
my racket, 
W hen it 
came to her 
turn to serve 
she asked 
me a ques- 
tion :— 
and kill their 

you stand up to the net 
returns ? TJ 

No, I would not stand up to the net and 
kill their returns. I did not know what she 
meant ; but I knew that I would not do it. 
And I did not. She heiself played as if she 
had been doing nothing else all her life but 
play lawn-tennis. She was all over the place 
at once. I was only in her way t and she 
treated me as if I was only in her way, I 
had to dodge when I saw her coming or she 
would have sent me flying : more than once 
she nearly did- It was a painful fiasco so 
far as I was concerned ; I have a dim sus- 
picion that we scored nothing. When the 
game was finished she looked me up and 

down - Original from 





" Bit off your game, aren't you ? ,J 

u Vm afraid I am," I muttered 

I was too cast down to do anything else 
but mutter. 'I' here was a look in her eyes 
which, unless I was mistaken, meant temper. 
And she was such a very stalwart person that 
I had a horrible feeling that, unless I was 
very careful, she might make nothing of 
shaking me. 

"Perhaps you're stronger in singles. I 
should like to play you a single; will you ? JJ 

''Thank you ; some — some other time/ 1 

"Shall we say to-morrow?" 

We did not say to-morrow. I would not 
have said to-morrow for a good deal. 
Margaret came to my rescue. 

"You play Bertha. Nelly and I'll look 
on. " 

We looked on, while they performed 
prodigies. I had never before seen such 
playing* The idea of my associating myself 
frith them was preposterous. As we watched 
Margaret was not so loquacious as I should 
have desired. In her silence I seemed to 
read disapprobation of the exhibition of in- 
competence which I had given. Moreover, 
when she did speak her remarks took the 
form of criticisms of the play; approving 
this stroke, condemning that, with a degree 
of severity which made me wince, It was 
impossible to sit beside her for many seconds 
without realizing that she regarded lawn- 
tennis with a serious- 
ness of which — in that 
connection — I had 
never dreamed. Obvi- 
ously, with her, it was 
one of the serious 
things of life. 

Suddenly she hit 
upon a theme which 
was not much more 
palatable to me than 
lawn-tennis had been 
— in such company. 

l * I-et's play ping- 
pong — you and me ? " 

M Ping pong ? " My 
heart sank afresh* It 
seemed in that house 
that games were in the 
air. ** Wouldn't you 
rather sit here and 
watch them playing 
tennis? I like to 
iratch them," 

I would rather have 
watched anyone play 
anything than play 

myself. But Margaret was of a different 

"Oh, no— what's the fun of it? One gets 
rusty. Let's do something. Of course, ping- 
pong's not a game one can take really in 
earnest ; but there's a tournament in the 
school-room on Wednesday, and I ought to 
keep my hand in. Come along and let's 
have a knock up/' 

We went along. She did not give me a 
chance to refuse to go along. She led the 

" Of course you do play ? " 

" Well, I have played, But Pm quite 
sure that I dorrt play in your sense." 

41 Oh, everyone plays ping - pong ; the 
merest children even. I maintain that it's 
nothing but a children's game." 

It might be. In that case she would 
soon discover that I was past the age of 

I( Have you brought your bat? 1 ' I had 
not. "It doesn't matter. We've got about 
thirty different kinds. You're sure to find 
your sort among them," 

A ping-pong board was set up in the 
billiard- room. On a table at one side w T ere 
enough bats to stock a shop, I took the 
one she recommended, and we began. 

Ping-pong is a loathsome game, I have 
always said it, and always shall. At home 
we played it on the dining-room table. The 

Id bytSOTgK 





boys made sport of me. They used to 
declare in derision that I played "pat-ball/ 
I should have liked some of them to have 
played with Margaret, She would have 
played with them, or I err, I thought the 
serves had come in with disgusting swiftness 
at lawn-tennis : they were nothing compared 
to her serves at ping-pong. That wretched 
little celluloid ball whizzed over the net like 
lightning ; and then, as I struck at it blindly, 
expecting it to come straight towards me, 
like a Christian thing, it flew off at an angle 
to the right or left, and my bat encountered 
nothing but the air- On the other hand, when 
I served, she smashed my ball back with such 
force that it leapt right out of my reach, or 
anyone's, and sometimes clean over the 
billiard-table. I had soon had enough of it, 

" Hadn't we better stop ? !1 I inquired, 
when, for the second time in succession, she 
had smashed 
my service 
nearly up to 
the ceiling. 
"It can't be 
very amusing 
for you to play 
with me." 

A similar 
ref lee t ion 
seemed to 
occur to her 
Resting her 
bat on the 
edge of the 
board, she re- 
garded me in 
tive fashion, 

"What is 
your favour- 
ite game ? " 
she asked. 

Tor some 
occult reason 
the question 
made me 
blush; so 
far, that is, 
as my state 
of beat per- 

M I'm not good at any ; so I suppose I 
haven't a favourite game. Indeed, I don't 
think Phi fond of games." 

u Not fond of games ?" Her tone was almost 
melancholy, as if my admission grieved her, 
u That is unfortunate. We're such a gamey 
crowd ; we are all so keen on games/* 

ligilized by Google 


Her bearing so hinted that I had been the 
occasion to her of actual pain that it almost 
moved me to tears. 

When I got up into my room to dress for 
dinner I was a mixture of feelings. It would 
not have needed much to have made me 
sneak down the stairs, and out of the house, 
and back to the station, if I had been sure 
of getting safely away. I could not say 
exactly what I had expected, but I certainly 
had not expected this, Charlie had always 
made such a fuss of me that I fear I had 
taken it for granted that, under the circum- 
stances, his people would make a fuss of me 
too. Instead of which they had received me 
with a take- it-for gran ted air, as if they had 
known me for years and years, and then had 
promptly proceeded to make me feel so 
unutterably small that 1 was almost inclined 
to wish that I had never been bom, 

I hated to 
be made to 
feel small. I 
hated games, 
I hated — 
during those 
moments in 
which I was 
tearing off 
my frock I 
nearly felt as 
if I hated 
But just in 
time it was 
borne in to 
me how 
wicked I was. 
It was not 
their fault if 
I was a little 
donkey; it 
was my own. 
They were 
not to blame 
if I had 
allowed my 
education to 
be neglected, 
and had not 
properly ap- 
preciated the 
paramount importance of tennis and ping-pong 
and golf, and all the other —to my mind — 
somewhat exasperating exercises which came 
under the generic heading of "games.' 1 But 
as I proceeded with my toilette and surveyed 
the result in the mirror my spirit became 
calmer* ^qff^frcfftfy nonc °^ t * ieni 



looked better than I did. I might not be 
such an expert, but I certainly was not 
uglier than they were. And that was some- 
thing. Besides, I was young, and strong, 
and healthy, and active. If I set myself to 
do it, it was quite within the range of possi- 
bility that I might become a match for them 
even at tennis and ping-pong. I did not 
believe that I was such a duffer as 1 had 

No one could have been nicer than they 
were when I went down into the drawing- 
room — Miss Reeves actually was so nice 
that she took my breath away. They stared 
as I entered ; then broke into a chorus. 

"Well," began Bertha, with that outspoken- 
ness which seemed a family characteristic, 
"one thing's sure and certain, you'll be the 
beauty of the family. We shall have to 
show you as an illustration of what we can 
achieve in that direction. You look a per- 
fect picture." 

"A dream of loveliness," cried Miss 
Reeves. "Now, if I were a man you're 
just the sort of girl I'd like to marry. Even 
as a mere girl I'd like to kiss you." 

She put her hands lightly on my bare 
shoulders and she did kiss me-— on both 
cheeks and on the lips — there and then. It 
was most bewildering. I had not looked 
for that sort of thing from her. But Mrs. 
Godwin's words warmed the very cockles 
of my heart : — 

" If you're as delightful as you look, my 
dear, that boy of mine ought to be a very 
happy fellow." 

No woman had ever spoken to me like 
that before. It filled me with a lovely 
glow — made me even bold. I went close up 
to her and I whispered : — 

" I should like to make him happy." 

Then she drew me to her and she kissed 
me, laughing as she did so. It was really a 
most peculiar position for a person to be in. 
But I forgave them for making such an 
object of me at tennis. 

After dinner Mrs. Godwin said :— 

" Bertha, Margaret, and I will go over to 
the island in the dinghy, we being on this 
occasion the chief exponents of parlour 
tricks, and responsible for all the other per- 
formers of the same ; and then, Pat, you and 
Nelly might follow in the punt" 

At Mrs. Godwin's mischievous allusion to 
" parlour tricks " they all looked at me and 
laughed ; but by now I was beginning to 
get used to their ways. I laughed too. A 
little while before I should have objected to 
being again paired off with Miss Reeves ; 

Vol xxv.— 6. 

but my sentiments were also commencing to 
change towards her. Mrs. Godwin went on: — 

" We shall have to see that all things are 
ready and in order, so that you will have 
fifteen or twenty minutes before you need 

We saw them off ; the garden ran right 
down to the water's edge. Then Miss Reeves 
proposed that, since there was no need to 
hurry, we should get into the punt and 
dawdle about upon the river till it was time 
to join them. The idea commended itself 
to me, although I was regarding the punt — 
which was moored alongside — with some mis- 
givings. Incredible though it may sound, I 
had never seen such an article before. 

But then I had never before been within 
miles and miles of the Thames except over 
London Bridge, and that kind of thing. I 
had never been in a boat in my life, whether 
large or small, on sea or river. Such was my 
ignorance that I had not been aware that 
women ever rowed, especially in little weeny 
boats all alone by themselves. The work- 
manlike manner in which Bertha and 
Margaret had rowed off with their mother 
had filled me with amazement ; they had 
gone off with nothing on their heads 
or shoulders, or even their hands. They 
had a heap of wraps in the bottom of the 
boat ; but it had not seemed to occur to 
them that it was necessary to put them on. 
True, it was a lovely evening and delightfully 
warm ; but there were lots of other boats 
about, and it did seem odd that three ladies 
should start off in a boat all alone by them- 
selves in exactly the same costume in which 
they had just been sitting at dinner. 

" Hadn't I better put something on ? " I 
inquired of Miss Reeves, who showed symp- 
toms of a desire to hurry me into the punt 
before I was ready. 

" Why ? " she rejoined. " It'll be hot all 
through the night. You don't feel chilly ? " 

" No ; I don't feel chilly, but " 

I looked about me at the strangers in the 
other boats in a way which she was quick to 
understand. She was shrewd enough. 

" My dear Miss Heywood "she paused. 

" I mean, my dear Nelly — I must call you 
Nelly, I really must— up here one regards the 
Thames as one's own private river. It's the 
mode to do, and to dress, exactly as one 
pleases. In summer, on the upper reaches 
of the Thames, one is in Liberty Hall. Step 
into that punt, if it pleases you, just as you 
are ; or, if it pleases you, smother yourself in 
wraps ; only do step in. Are you going to 
pole or am IP'? " 




" To pole ? " 

She eyed me quizzically. 

44 Don't tell me that you don't know what 
to pole means." 

44 But I don't. How should I, when I 
never saw a punt before this second?" 

44 Dear me, how your rudiments have been 
neglected ! Poling, you unmstructed child, 
with the stream and the right companion 
on a summer evening is the poetry of life. 
Jump inside that boat and Til give you an 
illustration of the verb to pole." 

She gave me one ; a charming illustration, 
too. Certainly, lying on the bottom of that 
punt, amid a pile of cushions, while it moved 
smoothly over those glittering waters, under 
that cloudless sky, was delicious. And the 
ease with which she sent us along — just 
dipping the long pole into the stream, while 
the gleaming drops of water fell off the 
shining shaft. 

44 Well," she asked, 4I how do you like my 
illustration ? " 

44 It's lovely. I could go on like this for 
ever, just looking at you. It shows off your 
figure splendidly." She laughed. 44 And it 
doesn't seem to be so difficult either." 

44 What doesn't seem difficult?— poling? 
It isn't. You only have to put it in and 
take it out again. Nothing could be simpler." 

Of course, I knew that she was chaffing 
me, and that it was not quite so simple as 
that But, all the same, I leaned to the 
opinion that it was not so very hard. And I 
resolved that when Charlie came, and he 
was there to teach me and to take a genuine 
interest in my education, I would try my 
hand. I suspected that I might look rather 
decent poling him along. 

It was very jolly on the island. There 
were crowds of people, some of them gor- 
geous, some in simple skirts and blouses, but 
scarcely any of them wore hats — the men 
looked nicer than I had ever seen men look 
before. I came to the conclusion that the 
river costume did suit men. The 44 parlour 
tricks " were excellent ; I became more and 
more ashamed of myself for having spoken 
of them as parlour tricks. Bertha and 
Margaret and Mrs. Godwin were splendid. I 
believe that the people would have liked 
them to have kept on doing things all night 
long. And no wonder. If I had only 
been a hundredth part as clever I should 
have been as proud as a peacock. Every- 
thing would have gone off perfectly, and I 
should have had one of the pleasantest 
evenings of my life, if it had not been for 

m),st " i,idity i>iBiti Ze db 1 fG< le 

When all was over I found myself in the 
punt with Margaret. She was kneeling at 
one end, arranging her music and things. 
Although it was pretty late there was a full 
moon in an unclouded sky, so that it was 
almost as light as day. All at once I dis- 
covered that we had got untied or something, 
and were drifting farther and farther from the 

44 We're going," I exclaimed. 

44 That's all right," said Margaret. 44 Pole 
her clear." 

Evidently she, engrossed in affairs of her 
own, took it for granted that I was no novice 
— in that part of the world novices seemed 
to be things unknown. There were lots of 
boats about us ; people were making laugh- 
ing remarks about" our being in the way ; the 
pole was lying in the punt; Miss Reeves had 
handled it as if it were a feather. Here 
was an earlier opportunity to try my hand 
than I had anticipated ; but surely until 
Margaret was disengaged I could act on her 
instructions and 44 pole clear." So I picked 
up the pole. 

Two things struck me instantly : one, that 
it was much longer than it had seemed ; and 
the other, that it was a very great deal 
heavier. But I had been so hasty that, 
before I realized these facts — though I 
realized them rapidly enough — the end of 
it was in the water. Down it went with 
a jerk to the bottom. Had I not hung on 
to it with sudden desperation it would all 
of it have gone. I wished it had ! For 
while I clung to it I all at once perceived 
that, in some mysterious way, the boat was 
running away from underneath me. It was 
the most extraordinary sensation I had ever 
experienced, and so startling, and it all took 
place with such paralyzing swiftness. Before 
I understood what was really happening — 
before I had time to scream or anything — I 
found that I was actually pushing the punt 
away with my own feet — that I was standing 
on the edge of it—and, splash ! I was in the 

There was no water to speak of. It was 
quite shallow ; only a foot or two deep. I 
was out again almost as soon as I was in. 
But I was soaked to the skin. And the 
worst of it was that I knew that not a creature 
there sympathized with me truly. All'round 
me people were laughing outright— at me ! 
—as if it were quite a joke. I could not see 
where the joke came in. Although Mrs. 
Godwin and the girls and Miss Reeves pre- 
tended to sympathize with me, I felt per- 
suaded that ev^natlH^lwre laughing at me 





in their heart of hearts. More than once I 
caught them in a grin. 

I did feel so wild with myself when I got 
between the sheets ! All the same, I slept 
like a top- I seemed to have only been 
asleep a minute or two when I was disturbed 
bv a knocking at my bedroom door. 

'"Who's there?" I cried 
"Come for a dip! " returned Margaret's voice, 
"A dip ? " I shuddered; she had roused 
me from the loveliest dream. u Where ? " 

II Why, in the river, child ! It's a perfect 
morning for a swim ! " 

"In the river— for a swim? But I can't swim," 
"I'm coming in," she cried. And in she 
came, rushing across the floor, putting her 
strong arms underneath my shoulders, raising 
me from the pillow. " I don't believe you 
can do anything, you little goose. But you're 
a darling all the same." 

She kissed me three or four times, then 
dropped me, scurried back across the floor 

and out of the 

I sighed and, I 
believe, I turned 
over and went to 
sleep again. 

When I got 
down to breakfast 
I found that they 
had all been about 
for hours. There 
was a letter from 
Charlie lying on 
my plate. He 
wrote to say that 
he was coming 
down by the first 

" You might go 
and meet him, 51 
suggested Mrs. 
Godwin. "Can 
you drive?" 

They all grin- 
ned, but I did 
not mind ; not a 
tiny bit. 

"Can I drive?" 
I retorted, scorn- 
fulty. "Why, 
I've driven since 
I was a little 
thing, * 

II And, pray, 
how long ago is 
that? Anyhow, 
if you can drive 

you might go to meet him by yourself." 

I did, in the pony phaeton ; it was lovely. 
When Charlie came out of the station my 
heart jumped into my mouth ; especially 
when he took his hat off" and kissed me in 
front of all the people* It was so un- 

As I drove him back I told him what an 
absolute duffer I was, He declared that, as 
for my not being able to do things, he 
would show me how to do them all, and he 
guaranteed— but I knew there was a twinkle 
in his eye — that scon I would do them 
better than anyone else. And 1 should not 
be surprised if he does teach me how to do 
some things. He has taught me such a 
deal already. 

So, as I observed at the outset, although 1 
am not quite, I am almost perfectly happy. 
And, after all, that is something, particu- 
larly as 1 dare say I shall be quite happy 
before very brgtjinal from 


By M. E. Br addon, 

Amtkfii of tl Z*e*ito*i's Quesi" "Run 10 Earth" "Hostages 
to Fortune^ " etc. 

HERE are two evenings that 
will remain in my memory, 
vivid pictures of things that 
are past, so long as I have 
power to remember. One is 
the night of July 3rd, 1902, 
when Sir Henry Irving received the Indian 
Princes on the stage of the _ Lyceum, with 
a lavish splendour that well became the 
Oriental magnificence and the old-world 
dignity of his guests ; while the other 
occasion is a night in the far-away forties, 
when on that same stage, which Sir Henry's 
army of stage-carpenters, upholsterers, gas- 
men, confectioners, and charwomen so 
rapidly transformed into a banquet! ng-hali, 
I watched, with childish wonder and delight, 
the transformation of pumpkin and mice 
to a fairy chariot drawn by a team of 
milk - white ponies ; Cinderella's coach, 
glittering with gold, garlanded with roses. 
And Cinderella, a slim little person in 
a brown stuff frock, was Mrs. Keeley, 
then in her zenith; and I was a small child 
in white muslin and blue sash, and pig- 
tails like those of Miss Morleena Kenwigs. 
Those two nights were my first and last at 
the Lyceum Theatre ; and between them lies 
a gulf of more than half a century. 

As this little paper is to be purely egotis- 
tical, and to record my personal impressions 
of the theatre which is soon to disappear 
from our new London, I may be allowed to 
say that the Lyceum has never been to me 
quite as other theatres, but always some- 
thing special — ttwas Aparies — prettier, more 
artistic, more elegant 3 more altogether 
delightful ; the house that never brought 
disappointment or satiety. Perhaps one of 
the particular charms of this theatre in the 

days of my youth consisted in the fact that 
I never knew it perverted from its legitimate 
function, never degraded by a miscellaneous 
entertainment, or turned to base educational 
uses by an orrery ; while at the St. James's, 
in my early childhood, I had groaned under 
the infliction of Ethiopian serenaders and 
German conjurers, and had been too often 
taken to other theatres in the off-season, to 
hear Henry Russell, or to see live rabbits 
boiled in a hat, when I was pining for the 
enchantment of pantomime or play. 

I began my career as a member of the 
playgoing public at an unusually early period, 
for I was born a deadhead, and my childhood 
was spent in that golden age for playgoers 
when the editors of important London 
newspapers had the disposal of a large 
number of free admissions to the best seats 
in the best London theatres. What the 
limit of those free admissions may have 
been I know not ; but I can recall bulky 
double letters containing six d res s - ci rcle 
tickets, or ivory plaques which admitted 
two, and might be kept for a week ; and I do 
not think my mother was ever refused the 
favour she asked from a nephew who was not 
only the ablest of editors but also the kindest 
of men* Theatre tickets in our family meant 
not J~ s. d. but J- T. D, ; and it is needless 
to say that J, T, D. was approached some- 
what often on this subject ; for let it be 
known by your friends that you are able to 
obtain orders for the play, and only those 
overworked daughters of the horse-leech can 
afford a parallel in rapacity. Rarely did my 
mother make the familiar request on her 
own account, but often and very often for the 
pleasure of other people ; and, when a batch 
of dress -circle tickets had been obtained for 




London friends, I, as a small child from the 
suburbs, was sometimes slipped in among 

And so it happens that on one well- 
remembered night I am sitting in the dazzling 
circle at the beautiful theatre, and Keeley 
and Harley are acting the famous chapter in 
"Martin Chuzzlewit,' where Sairey (lamp and 
Betsey Prig are first con- 
vivial and anon quarrel- 
some over the little 
black teapot, a duologue 
that had been arranged 
for the two famous com- 
edians, It is a long hill, 
for the performance 
begins with a comedy, 
of which I remember 
nothing; and then there 
is a ballet by Madame 
Somebody's troupe of 
children, that appealed 
more to my imagination, 
and has lived longer in 
my memory j and then 
come Sairey and Betsey, 
Sairey very short and 
stout, a little ball of a 
woman, and Betsey 
gaunt and thin; and 
from recrimination they 
pass to personal assault, 
with a trifle of clowning, 
such as even illustrious 
comedians will some- 
times delight in, and the 
table is knocked over, 
and Sairey rolls upon 
the stage, speechless 
and irresistibly comic, 
and the scene is done ; and then, oh then, 
comes the crowning glory of the night, 
Planche's burlesque of "Cinderella," so 
lightly touchy so elegant, so unlike modern 
burlesque; and Cinderella is Mrs. Keeley, 
and Alfred Wigan is the Prince; and the 
wicked sisters are not two bouncing low 
comedians, tumbling about in flounced 
petticoats, and knocking each other through 
cheval glasses, and showing an inordinate 
length of leg at every possible opportunity, 
redolent of the music - halls they lately 
adorned, Cinderella's wicked sisters in 
that night of the far-away forties are 
two of the prettiest women on the London 
stage. Even their names hnve an odour 
of elegance, Rondeletia and Patchoulia, 
after the fashionable perfumes of the 
hour; and they appear at the Prince's 

From a Photo, b$ Iitath and %u ( RtQ&at SiruU W. 

ball in dibardeur costume, with velvet 
trousers, silk shirts, and powdered hair, and 
dance a pas de irois with the Prince, I can 
see the figures moving before me as I write, 
the smiling faces, the waving arms — and all 
are dead and gone ! One —was it Rondeletia 
or Patchoulia?— was famous for her beauty 
and her grace ; but she early vanished from 
u those garish lights " to 
a domestic life of tran- 
quil happiness, which 
never courted the 
tumult and glitter of 
11 smart " society. 

There is a gap in time 
between that night in 
Fairyland and a night 
of thrilling melodrama, 
when for the first time 
at a London theatre a 
play in seven acts, or 
tableaux, occupied the 
whole evening — a dar- 
ing experiment which, I 
believe, was hardly a 
managerial success. 
The play was "The 
Chain of Events,'' an 
adaptation from the 
French, and altogether 
a noteworthy production 
from a spectacular point 
of view, including a 
sec ue of tempest and 
shipwreck, a picturesque 
French market-place, in 
which Madame Vestris 
and Miss Laura Keene, 
a handsome and clever 
young American actress* 
appeared as market-women ; a fountain of 
real water, a night scene in Paris, and a 
ballet with Rosina Wright as pr&miire 
danseuse^ and other stage pictures that years 
have dimmed, though the marked individu- 
ality of Charles Mathews as a light comedy 
villain, casual, offhand, spirituel^ audacious, 
time has not blurred. 

Of other productions during the Mathews 
management of the Lyceum I remember only 
" The Island of Jewels," a burlesque in which 
Julia St. George and Madame Vestris were 
the stars. Madame played a Prince of 
Fairyland, perhaps one of that accomplished 
comedienne* s latest impersonations, when 
the dark menace of a fatal disease was 
overshadowing the brilliant and strangely 
chequered career, , r 

Following r iSi"^he grace and elegance of 



the Mathews period came the era of Charles 
Dillon, and that admirable actor's perform- 
ance of Belph^gor the Mountebank, with 
pretty little Mane Wilton as the Mounte- 
bank's almost dying son, 
an impersonation so 
natural and so pathetic 
as to secure immediate 
recognition from the 
critics and the public, a 
debut which placed the 
young actress at once in 
the foremost rank. The 
play was only a melo- 
drama, and an adapta- 
tion "at that"; but the 
London of these modern 
days would f I think, 
welcome even a foreign 
melodrama if it told as 
tender and pathetic a 
story as " Belphegor the 

On Charles Dillon's 
too brief occupation of 
the Lyceum succeeded 
the still shorter reign 
of Madame Celeste* who began her season with 
an adaptation of "The Tale of Two Cities." 
I was far away in the north of England 
during these two managements ; and my next 
memory of the 
Lyceum is Falconer's 
eminently successful, 
but to me, personally, 
eminently boring, 
Irish drama, " Peep 
o J Day, or Savourneen 
Deelish " ; and then 
came a new life, a 
new brilliancy, new 
fashion, and vast 
popularity for my be- 
loved Lyceum, under 
the management of 
Charles Feehter, an 
actor in whose talents 
the artistic and liter- 
ary world of London 
took a keen interest. 
His Hamlet was the 
most talked about of 
all his impersona- 
tions, but I must own 
to not liking him in 
"The Duke's Motto" 
or in "Bel Demonio," 
his manner of rolling 
large brown eyes 


J^tPin 11 Phau*. by Window and Grow*, 

round the auditorium, as if in search of 
admiring glances from other eyes, and his 
self-conscious attitudinizing, being altogether 
antagonistic to my idea of a great actor. It 
was not indeed until I 
saw him in " Ruy Bias " 
that I was able properly 
to appreciate his drama- 
tic power. Well do I 
remember that per for nu- 
ance, which was on the 
occasion of the mana- 
ger's benefit, and the 
illustrious audience that 
had gathered to do 
honour to their favourite 
actor, among whom one 
figure stands out before 
nil others, vivid in the 
light of genius that all 
the world loved. Con- 
jured by memory from 
time and death, lean see 
the strong features, the 
animated countenance, 
the erect figure of 
Charles Dickens, stand- 
ing up in his box, with his daughters at his 
side, to applaud his friend smd protig£ t as the 
curtain fell upon the tragic story* 

Feehter appeared also as Robert Macaire 
in the afterpiece, with 
dear Johnny Toole as 
his accomplice and 
ihm damme. 

After that benefit 
performance of "Ruv 
Blas tJ and "Macaire," 
I remember the pro* 
duction of 1( The 
1 ,ong Strike," adrama 
of factory life, by 
Dion Boucicault, in 
which that admirable 
comedian, Widdi- 
combe, surprised the 
West - end by his 
powerful acting in a 
highly d ramatie 
scene ; and I can 
recall the premiere of 
" Ravens wood," with 
Feehter as the 
gloomy Edgar, and 
Carlotta Leclerqueas 
Lucy, very lovely, 
though somewhat 
w plumper than one's 
|5f r JjC|pal Lucy Ashton. 




Kate Terry, whose charm 
as the heroine in kt The 
Duke's Motto" had been 
an important factor in the 
success of that world- 
famous melodrama, was 
no longer adorning those 
boards, and was, indeed, on 
the eve of her happy union 
with Mr. Arthur Lewis. 

In the autumn of 1868 
the Fechter management 
had ended like a tale that 
is told ; and the popular 
actor - manager, after a 
season at the Adelphi, was 
astonishing Paris by his 
performance of the villain- 
ous Obenrei^er in "No 
Thorough Tare," a sensa- 
tional play, founded on the 
popular Christmas story by 
Charles Dickens and Wi Ik ie 
Collins, which had been 
transferred from the Strand 
to the Boulevard* The 
Lyceum stage was then 
occupied by a powerful melodramatic actor, 
new to London, Herr Daniel Band man n, 
whose German accent was by no means dis- 
tasteful to a public that 
had so lately doted upon 
the Franco - German 
Fechter. He was young, 
and his handsome stage 
face and tall, slim figure 
were admirably adapted 
to the adventurous hero 
of Bulwer Lytton's 
romantic play, "The 
Rightful Heir," a new 
version of an early and 
unappreciated drama by 
the author of "The 
Lady of Lyons" and 
"Richelieu." Herr 
Bandmann was sup- 
ported by his pretty and 
talented young wife, 
Miss Milly Palmer, who 
had made her mark as 
an ingtnue in domestic 

From the production 
of "The Rightful Heir" 
to a night in the summer 
of 18 7 r, I have no 

memory of the Lyceum ; but the details of 
the latter evening are as fresh in my mind as 


From a Photo, by J. and C. WtUkin*. 



Frmn a Photo, bp fiUirtf ritfef Fry. 

by LjOOgk 

if it were only yesterday, 
when Colonel Bateman— 
the popular American 
lessee — ushered us to our 
box, expatiating by the way 
upon the marvellous suc- 
cess of " this young fellow " 
in "The Bells." Lord 
Lytton had seen the play 
upon the previous night, 
the manager told us, and 
he had pronounced the 
young actor's performance 
"a revelation." I believe 
that was the first time I 
heard that particular use of 
the impressive substantive, 
which has since had such 
a hard life in journalism. 

44 The Bells!" Through 
the mist of years the thril- 
ling sound comes back to 
my car, with all it held of 
mystery and wonder in that 
first night when the story of 
the play was still unknown. 
When did 'the opening of 
a tragic drama ever catch the attention of 
an audience better than that quiet dialogue 
in the tavern, the easy, casual talk about the 
murdered Jew, the 
severe weather recalling 
11 the Polish Jew's win- 
ter " ? And then there 
came the opening of the 
inn door, a glimpse of 
the snowy landscape in 
the moonlight, and the 
sudden entrance of the 
young actor, rapid, 
alert, every nerve vibrat- 
ing with passionate life. 
Such acting was, indeed, 
a revelation 3 Fine act- 
ing there had been, and 
of the finest, before 
Henry Irving took the 
town by storm ; but not 
since Edmund K can's 
Shy lock had the town 
seen the same creature 
of fire and light, the 
tragic force that lives in 
every word and every 
breath, and makes up 
the sum of that indefin- 
able essence we call 
genius. That there was lurk in the choice of 
the Erckmanii-Chatrian story no one can 




doubt, for never were player and play better 
fitted. The mysterious and the uncanny 
have been ever the chords that resound 
deepest and fullest to Henry living's touch. 
That impersonation of the undetected mur- 
derer, conscience - harrow ed 3 supremely 
wretched, yet facing the world with a 
bold front, was indeed a revelation. Such 
impressions are unforgetable. 

Many a brilliant " first night " do I 
remember within those walls — u Richelieu," 
« Romeo and Juliet, 5 ' "Much Ado," "Twelfth 
Night/' "Eugene Aram," "Charles L t a 


" Faust " — but perhaps best of all " Hamlet " ; 
ft:* in Sir Henry Irving J s il Hamlet " I saw 
the first Prince of Denmark in whom the 
note of " unhappiness " was clearly struck, all 
previous Hamlets that I remembered having 
exhibited a certain masterfulness and swagger, 
and a sense of elation in having so fine a 
part to play, which the spasmodic assumption 
of abysmal gloom could not undo. Here 
was a man bowed to the dust by the galling 
consciousness of horrible things that he had 
no power to undo or to avenge : the despair- 
ing son of a foully - murdered father, the 

embittered son of 
a frail and faulty 
mother, the lover 
to whom love was 
a forbidden joy. 
Yet withal, even 
while wandering in 
this labyrinth of 
woe, the Royal up- 
bringing, the Royal 
habit of mind, are 
firmly indicated. 
The man is every 
inch a Prince. 

But the fiat has 
gone forth. The 
most famous actor 
of the last half- 
century is to find 
another stage. Will 
Drury Lane prove 
too spacious for the 
perfect exhibition 
of those subtle 
gifts? It is not 
the theatre one 
would choose for 
Hamlet, Mephis- 
topheles, Charles L, 
but for Richard or 
for Shylock it may 
serve Sir Henry 
Irving as well as it 
served Edmund 
Kean ; and there or 
elsewhere the town 
will follow the actor- 
m a n a g e r whose 
careerat the doomed 
Lyceum has been 
for thrice ten years 
the most potent 
influence in the 
dramatic world. 

by Google 

Original from 

Illegalities of Football. 

By C B. Fry. 

Jtlustr&tiQHs from Photographs by George AVkwj, Limited, 

WARNING, gentle reader ! 
Please do not read this tale 
and then attend League match 
or Cup tie hoping to see 
a peep-show of the misde- 
meanours here described; that 
way lies disappointment. Indeed, you* well 
might follow a do^en first-class games with- 
out detecting a solitary example of the graver 
sins. The peccadilloes and naughty ways 
unveiled below are collected from over fifteen 
years of football— good, bad, and moderate — 
and most of them, by far, come from the 
very moderate and the bad. In search of 
brazen law-breaking you must haunt the third 
or fourth-rate match in a rowdy district, 
where the players would sometimes atone for 
defect of skill and science by mere excess 
of roughness and deceit. The unscrupulous 
expert is not, alas! unknown to high class 
football ; but in general, as any competent 
authority will tell you, the better the player 
the more honourable the play. In games 
prowess and law are brothers, hand in hand ; 
the law is, in truth, the verbal expression not 
only of what a game should be, but of what, 
with skilful play, it is. The law-breaker does 
but confess his own incompetence, 

Another warning ! Some players unite 
wisdom of serpent with innocence of clove, 
In fine, you will not reproach my friend 
George Molyneux, the International, and 
myself, who posed together for these pictures, 
and Harry Wood, the Southampton captain, 
who kindly supervised, with practising the 
wickedness we seem to know, 

I .aw X, is the great one of the Association 
code, hatching a brood of precepts: "Thou 
shalt not trip thine opponent. Thou shalt 
not kick him. Thou shalt not jump at 
Thou shalt not push or hold him. 
Thou shalt not charge him in the 
back. Thou shalt not, unless in goal, 
handle the ball on purpose " 

Tripping is defined as intentionally 
throwing, or attempting to throw, an 
opponent by the use of the legs, or by 
stooping in front of or behind him. 
But this stooping, technically known 
as ducking, is really not a trip, but an 
illegal method of charging, and falls 
properly under that head, 
the referee had no option 


king a trip ; now, more rationally, he is 
permitted to distinguish between intentional 
and unintentional. As may readily be under- 
stood, when one player has the ball at his feet, 
dribbling it, and another is attempting to 
hpok the ball away, the second player, with 
the best intentions in the world, may miss 
the ball, either by his own rnaladroitness or 
by the elusive skill of the possessor, and, 
instead of hooking away the ball, may drag 
his opponent's legs from under him, In 
fact, this very often happens. To distin- 
guish is not easy. A good referee passes 
over many apparently intentional trips in 
the case of a player whom he knows 
to be thoroughly honest and sportsmanlike. 
Similarly, players who have earned them- 
selves a reputation for unfairness are often 
penalized for trips they by no means intended. 
Character tells here as everywhere. But 
since a trip, even if unintentional, is a real 
drawback to the player who suffers it, there 
is no injustice in the award of a compensating 
free kick. A player, noted for consummate 
skill, was once suspended for fighting on the 
field. He explained it thus : u I jist drew 
Tarn's fuit fra' under him, wi 1 the ball ; he 
wa* awfu* scaert, an' I jist said f Com 1 an/" 
He had red hair. 

Of intentional tripping the motive is simple : 
your opponent is effectually out of action 
when prone on the ground. A wing sprinter 
is away, and 
I so plant my 
foot as for- 
cibly to ob- 
struct one of 
his legs for 
just an in- 
stant; in that 

YoL **v.-9 

in penal 


].— NOT A THEI-'> HFCAl-SF. Tfrj- 

l^iginalf^orf^ t •'' , ' PLAVEl, • 



brief instant he 
bites the turf. 
Q.E.D. or \\ 
But players 
fall by New- 
ton's law quite 
fairly. Often 
a man is appa- 
rently tripped 
when really lie 
is not tripped 
at all. If one 
man is going 
fast with the 
ball at his feet 
and another 
plants his foot 
firmly against 
the ball, the 
first man hav- 
ing his feet 
brought to 

rest by the obstructing ball often continues 
his original state of uniform motion —on to 
the turf. This, though annoying is, how- 
ever, not a trip ■ for the tackier has played 
the hall and not the man {i)< 

There are several species of trips. Perhaps 
the commonest is by the "hooking foot/ 1 
and is effected rather like the interlocking of 
sticks at hockey {2). It can be done to your 






opponent when he 
remember an oppo- 
nent who hooked me 
over six times in a 
game, each time after 
I had kicked the ball 
far down the field, 
and referee and 
players had followed 
it away and I stood 
watching. He came 
from behind. 
It was quite 
simple, and 
kindled a 
rowdy crowd 
to a frenzy of 
delight. But 
this trip is 
usually prac- 
tised on a man 
as he runs. You 
hook him up in 
his stride. An- 
other sort of trip is when you come up from 
behind and twirl your leg in front of your 
opponent's ankles after the manner of a 
wrestler. This is fairly common. But both 


by Google 

these kinds are rather 
obvious and rarely 
escape punishment. 
The most artistic trip 
is when, running along- 
side your adversary 
heel to heel, you just 
give his back 
foot a snick, so 
that you either 
disturb his 
progress by 
imparting to 
him a rotary 
motion, or else 
cause him to 
knock his back 
foot against 
the other as he 
swings tt for- 
ward ; and he 
trips himself ! 
(3) Tableau ! You need not use your foot ; a 
touch with your shin or knee suffices for the 
gentle tap required. The most obvious trip 
of all, perhaps, comes from an abortive 
spread-eagle tackle, when the tackier shoots 
out one leg flat on the ground and per- 
forms a sort of splits in front of the man 
with the ball ; but it has the disadvantage 
of looking like a trip even if you secure 
the ball And, lwsidcs, the runner may jump 

your leg and leave 
you stranded in a very 
silly posture. Not to 
mention the free kick. 
Pushing and hold- 
ing and handling are 
contrary not only to 
the law, but to the 
special nature of the 
game, which 
consists in not 
using the arm 
below the 
shoulder - joint 
at all, whether 
to impede your 
adversary or to 
play the ball. 

Pushing, in 
its most primi- 
tive form, con- 
sists simply in 
shifting your opponent out of the light or 
away from the ball with a straight shove of 
one or both arms. The triceps shove, I call 
it. In its grosser form, when you shove ant} 
Original from 




he goes over, it is too easily detected to be 
of value. But when there is a jumble and 
men are at close quarters there is many an 
opport unity of giving your opponent a push 
sufficiently strong to disturb his balance or 
throw him out of gear, 
without extending your 
arm in any obvious and 
eccentric manner. This 
sly pushing, I blush to 
relate, is not absolutely 
unknown among less 
scrupulous players. 
Many men, however, 
who naturally run with 
their arms stiff in front 
of them, cannot in run- 
ning into you help im- 
peding you with their 
arms as they come at 
you, This, though not 
intentional pushing^ is 
realty illegal. But some 
players 1 have known 
make a practice of im- 
peding you with their arms. Suppose 
you are running side by side for the ball, 
they fling their near arm rigid and stiff 
across you, and thus prevent you from 
going ahead. The device keeps you just 
the fatal few inches behind in the race ; 
you cannot get clear unless you part 
company with your unscrupulous opponent 
and make a wasteful detour. This case might 
be called the "barrier arm" (4), Jabbing 
with the elbow is another and rather painful 
form of pushing. Years ago I often met a 
famous forward who, when you ran neck and 
neck with him, each trying to ride the other 
off, kept pummelling you in 
his near elbow ; he worked 
his fore-arm backwards and 
forwards like the piston of a 
locomotive. Whether on pur- 
pose or not I do not know, 
but he was never to my 
knowledge penalized. To 
these jabs I 
would have pre- 
ferred one hon- 
est hack on the 
shins, and done 
with Another 
species of push, 
in appearance 
very like the 
"barrier arm," 
but really differ- 
ed I call the 

THE liARhlEk AkM— A Mfc [ Hul> or I'USHINU. 

the chest with 


by Google 

*' lever push- 1 ' Your opponent throws his arm 
across you and then presses back upon you, 
so that he not only drives you back but lifts 
himself forward. A very useful dodge when 
a player is jammed between two others ; he 
cannot then legitimately 
use his weight in both 
directions ; so he uses 
his arms one on each 
side, like a pair of oars, 
and rows himself for 
ward. Your bodies are 
the fulcra, his body the 
weight, the muscles of 
his shoulder the power, 
and his arms two straight 
levers. An effective 
dodge, if the referee is 
behind, but easily dis- 
cernible from in front. 
Another species of push 
is this : you charge a 
man or hustle him quite 
fairly with your shoulder, 
but as he yields way you 
continue your charge by following through 
with your upper arm, forcing it outwards 
against him, This illegality is only now and 
then detected. 

The above are offensive pushes ; there is 
also a defensive- Against one well-known 
player I defy you to drive your shoulder 
home; with clasped hands he makes for him- 
self a protecting hoop, a sort of torpedo net, 
of Ins two amis (5). Your shoulder always 
meets this semi-rigid, semi-elastic arm-hoop. 
He holds his fore-arms as a lady does when 
she challenges you, a strong man, to pull her 
finger-tips asunder. I have never seen him 
penalized for the trick, which, though harm- 
less enough, is still illegal 

Another minor and harm- 
ess but none the less illegal 
practice, which falls under 
the head of pushing, is that 
of using your opponent's 
shoulders as a point d'appui 
as you jump up to head the 

All the players 
in an Association 
game should do 
their best to 
make themselves 
armless. Some 
players, quite un- 
intentional ly, 
are much too 
" armful" Que 




brawny young professional, a very honest 
player, but clumsy and obstructive with his 
arms, was always being hauled up for pushing. 
He was heard to remark, " 111 have to git 
sawed off at t' shoul- 
ders, like them hancient 
Hammerzens ! " 

Holding is another 
"armful'* failing which 
the footballer must learn 
to abandon ; or else run 
away and play Rugby, 
where, as a method of 
detention, it is both valu- 
able and legal. I do not 
remember ever seeing in 
"Soccer" a full-blown 
" Rugger " tackle, low or 
high, with two encircling 
arms round ankles, 
knees, waist, chest, or 
neck. But some years 
ago, when I had been 
playing Rugby all the 
season and came sud- 
denly into an odd 
Association match, I 
surprised myself and a 
fleet outside - left by placing one arm 
round the front of his waist as he was 
slipping past me. And the referee saw and 
whistled ! And the crowd saw and made 
cat calls, w (lar'n back to Blackheath, 1 ' was 
the mildest com- 
ment. But the 
Rugby one-hand 
grab, the sort that 
tears your jersey 
from waist to neck, 
though rare, is not 
unknown in Asso- 
ciation ; an effec- 
tive, but not a 
finished or elusive, 
method of deten- 
tion. A grab much 
less pronounced 
suffices to detain 
a man for the 
necessary instant 
When players are 
hustling one an- 
other it is quite 
easy for one to grip 
the other, or, as 

often happens, both of them each other, by 
a fold of the shirt, or by the top rim of the 
knickers. You sometimes see two players, the 
ball just out of reach, neither of them appa- 

Digiiized by \jOOQIC 


rently able to budge an inch towards it ; as 
though both were retained on invisible wires 
like marionettes. In thronged positions this 
kind of holding often evades justice. I re- 
member once being made 
# rather ridiculous. Close to 

our goal the opposing centre- 
forward was dribbling the ball 
at his ease ; four yards on one 
side was I, apparently glued to 
the chest of the opposing In- 
sulc-left. The centre-forward 
scored at his leisure. I was 
helpless ; the in- 
side - left had in- 
serted his right 
forefinger in my 
belt, and with flexed 
arm pinned me to 
his side (6). It 
looked as though 
both of us were 
hustling each other 
in a particularly 
useless way, con- 
sidering the crisis. 
In reality I was 
pulling away from 
htm with all my might. In a couple of 
seconds I struggled free ; too late. This hold 
I call * ( the inserted finger"; it has a fair 
number of goals to answer for. Another 
sort of holding might be called ft the vice" 
(7). Sometimes in a hustle it happens that 
one player's arm weaves beneath that of his 
opponent, and the latter has merely to press 
his own arm tight to his side in order to 
imprison the formers hand or wrist. 
And not the least subtle point in 
this artifice is that it often ap- 
pears as though the injured party 
were either grip- 
ping or pushing the 
real delinquent* 
I remember once 
seeing an unscru- 
pulous forward, 
who in a hustle 
was pushing an 
opponent at full 
arm's length, caught 
very neatly in the 
Vice. His pushing 
hand happened to 
rest just under his 
opponent's armpit ; the latter, closing on it t 
staggered out of the mtHe, dragging the 
sbover after him and loudly claiming "foul" 
His pray0ri9ffl#al^1Wfffed; and the goal, 


7.-- 1Hfc TJCE I A MEltmiP 




which meanwhile had been scored, was 
neutralized. Of course, both players had 
sinned, but justice had its due. Artistic 
holding is very hard to detect, except by the 
parties immediately concerned ; especially 
when two players 
fall together and 
the man under- 
neath holds the 
one on top to 
prevent him ris- 
ing. And both 
men on the 
ground, holding 
can be done not 
only with the 
hand but with 
the leg ; for you 
can make of 
your own leg a 
"dead-fall, Jt pres- 
sing down on 
one of your op- 
ponent's limbs (8). Once during a Corinthian 
tour, in a northern match, played on a 
qungrmre where you could not see your 
boots (in fact, the players seemed to 
stand on feetless stumps), one of our half- 
backs and a hostile forward fell together, 
the latter across our comrade's legs. 
The game swept to the other end, eighty 
yards away, But there they remained wallow- 
ing, as though for pleasure, like buffaloes. 
Some minutes after the forward rejoined the 
game, his face as black as ink, rolling the 
whites of his 
eyes and using 
language- "The 
beggar/ 1 ex- 
plained our 
half- back, 
"would not let 
me up, until I 
ducked him." 

For football 
purposes the 

whole arm from 
shoulder- point 
to finger - tips. 
Handling the 
ball means 
playing it in- 
tentionally with 

any part of this elongated hand- Formerly 
the law gave a free kick whenever the ball, 
even by chance, hit a player's hand or arm : 
this was absurd, because such inadvertent 

touches in no way favoured the offending 
party. Nowadays the referee uses his dis- 
cretion and only penalizes what he considers 
an intentional use of the football hand. On 
occasions sly work is done with an apparently 
innocent hand; but the new rule is far the 
better. Under the other, suppose near goal 
the ball bounded against your elbow, the other 
side enjoyed an undeserved free kick. It 

used to be 
argued that 
keeping your 
arms out of the 
way of the ball 
'was part of the 
game. But often 
a man simply 
cannot avoid 
the ball, and a 
goal resulting 
from a free kick 
given for a use- 
less and unin- 
tentional "hands' 1 is most perverted justice. 
The common case of intentional hands 
is when a player traps the ball with his hands 
as it passes him, or knocks it down into con- 
trol as it bounces about; In a barrack near 
goal tins trirk often serves to arrange the 
ball for a shot. In a rush near goal the final 
touch is often more readily administered 
with hand or fore-arm than with head 
boot. Such play is a special case 

" knocking on. 

" hand " 
t he 



of handling, known as 
You sometimes, too, see a wing ■ forward 
hook the ball back into play 
with his hand just as it 
bounces out across the touch- 
line (9), But the linesman 
usually sees this, and either 
signals the ball " in touch " 
or informs the referee of the 
handling, according as the ball 
was in or out at 
the moment it 
was struck, 
Before the pen- 
alty kick was 
instituted un- 
backs and half- 
backs were 
add 1 c ted to 
punching out 
from goal- 
mouth. The old free kick for "hands" 
near goal was not very dangerous, since 
the defenders always had time to pack 
the goal ^ftfoqjfflsl fftjiippnetrable phalanx 




bouncing the ball up and down on his 

hand, dandling, or, to use the stricter slang, 

" babying ,J the ball (t \\ This shift, however, 

has now been brought within the meaning of 

the verb*' to carry/ 1 If a goalkeeper hits 

the ball up into the air far enough to lose 

control of it ; if, that is, he has to make 

a real effort for his second 

punch, he is not reckoned to 

have carried. Again, he is 

still at liberty to run as far 

as suits him in his own half 

of the field, bouncing the ball 

up and down on the ground, 

as a child plays with an india- 


io.— sheep* carrying: the brackf.t iohe^hm. 

Now and then you see a player pass the ball 
to another with a " knock on w ; but the trick 
is too palpable io be of any value. Sheer 
carrying is very rare ; I have seen it only 
once. Then, from a me lie near goal, the 
centre-forward, making a bracket of his fore- 
arms, gathered the ball at the top of its 
bounce and chivvied between the posts (io). 
In fine, he breasted a clever goal. Appeals 
were fruitless ; the referee was miles away 
behind As we returned, dissatisfied, for the 
kirk off, I said, "Well, you got a goal, but 
not by football." M Ye 
daftie,* 1 retorted the 
centre-forward, with an 
indulgent smile and a 
jerk of his thumb at the 
referee, " he couldna' 
see." That forward 
played for Scotland, 

The goalkeeper, of 
course, may use his 
hands. But he may not, 
under pains of 
a free kick, 
actually carry 
the ball for 
more than two 
strides. Once 
upon a time he 
could run as far 
as he liked in 
his own half of 
the field, 



by Google 

-THK calf-kick: a relic 


Original from 

rubber bouncy. But 
this procedure is risky, 
because the attacking 
players can get their 
feet to the ball bounced 
on the ground; where- 
as in a case of 
M babying" it is 
out of their 

"Thou shalt 
not kick thine 
seems almost 
an otiose com- 
mandment ; in- 
cluded, one 
would think, 
under the gene- 
ral law forbid- 
ding dangerous 






play. But in primitive football kicking, in 
the limited sense of hacking on the stuns, was 
permissible; so the 
express law against 
it is, I suppose, a 
relic of barbarism. 
Kicking an opponent 
on purpose is a gross 
offence, which none 
hut a very brutal 
player, or one irre- 
sponsible through 
temper, would per- 
petrate. Some years 
ago, when, 
hacking was 
the laws were not so 
stringently enforced, 
an evil-minded op- 
ponent sometimes 
kicked you on the 

calf (12). This not only hurt, but almost 
paralyzed the limb. One of the greatest 
dribblers proved so slippery in a semi final 
Cup tie that his northern opponents gave up 
trying to stop him and went for his calves. 
Hut the "calf- kick" against the man you 
cannot stop or catch, though not tmhistorica!, 
is barbarous in the extreme. If you want to 
get hacked, play in a local match with village 
yokels who do not know where they are sling- 
ing their heavy, untimely boots ! A shin of 
my acquaintance to this day bears the re- 
mains of a twelve -year-old goose-egg. Never 
again ! 

One form of hacking quite common, but 
not often recognised as illegal, is what I call 
u down-shinning " (13). When one player — 
for choice a back — is kicking at the ball an 
opponent hastens up and extends his boot. 


apparently with the intention of smother- 
ing the ball as it is kicked, but really not 
aiming at the ball at all; for he holds 
his foot so that the kicker's leg, as it 
follows through after the ball, may strike 
against the knobbed sole. This is pain- 
ful, and is responsible for many a bruised 
shin and many a beef-steak ankle. 

Fair charging sometimes looks rather 
rough, but it is part of the game, when 
not of the unnecessary or bashing order* 
Referees nowadays are very down upon 
forcible charging, however fair ; but this 
strictness is in the right direction, There 
are, in chief, two fair methods of charg- 
ing—with the shoulders and with the 
hips. In one case you impinge upon 
your opponent with the point of your 
shoulder, your arm tight to your side 
{14). This method rarely hurts a man, how- 
ever vigorously applied, though it may shake 
him up. It hurts most when 
both parties, like a pair of but- 
ting rams, stop dead on impact. 
In the other case you charge 
v Li the hip and upper jxut of 
the thigh; which you urge for- 
ward just at the mo- 
ment of meeting ( 15). 
It hurts sometimes, 
for the hip-bone is 
very hard. Some men, 
especially Scotch- 
men, are bony points 
all over when you 
meet them. Don't 
charge that sort. 

Unfair methods of 

cha rgtng are du eking, 

kneeing, jumping, 

and charging 

in the back. 

by \j 



15.-^* pair hip charx;f. + 

Original from 



Docking is now included 
under trips ; but it resembles 
the trip only when you stoop 
low in front of a runner, for 
him to take a header over 
you. This you will not 
readily attempt, because the 
chances are his knee will 
catch you a painful dig as 
he strides it forward* The 
ducking charge {16} is 
usually brought to bear 
from sideways or be- 
hind, and is a distinct 
charge. Its superior 
efficiency over an up- 
right method is that 
you catch your man 
lower and upset his 
balance more easily. 

Hut the duck is so obvious as to be a bad 
egg : you are sure to be penalized arid you gain 
nothing except the old- fashioned advantage 
of, perhaps, hurting 
your man. The 
trick is almost, 

16.- A iMJCKtNG otAtti;E from hkiiimi. 


Jumping means jumping at a player with 
feet or knees (17): it does not mean leaping 
into the air to head the ball As a rule it is 
the trick of a funk who dislikes a fair straight 
charge; otherwise, it is a sheer attempt to 
do grievous bodily harm. It is obviously 
dangerous. The jumper lands on your thighs, 
or, worse still, in the pit of your stomach, 
with his knobbed boots or sharp knees. The 
jumping charge is happily rare, even among 
the roughest players. To jump without being 
seen taxes the wickedest ingenuity* The 
proper punishment for it, as for all inten- 
tionally dangerous play, is— ■'* Off the field/' 

Kneeing is another dangerous practice 

which should be treated like- 
wise. It consists of raising the 
knee as you meet your man and 
using it like the ram ot a battle- 
ship (18). Unfortunately, un- 
less very clumsily done, the risk 
of detection is small t because 
often only a sideways view dis- 
covers the mal- 
practice* A knee 
hurts horribly ; and 
- . some are sharp ! 
And the worst of it 
}s + it catches you 
either on the front 
of the thigh, pro- 
ducing the bruise of 
the big extensor 
muscles which is 
known as ([ a pope " 
— the bruise that makes you walk very old 
and slow for days— or else it takes you in the 
stomach or in the small of the back, poor 
places to receive a hard -pointed ram, Xo 
player would wilfully knee twice in a game 
were I the referee. A free kick does not 
meet my view of this offence. 
- Clinging in the back (19) is a conten- 
tious point. The law is that you must not 
charge a man in the back unless he is not 
only facing his own goal but also wilfully 
impeding you. Formerly the second clause 
of the proviso was not in the taw, It is, of 
course, quite right lo make an offence of 
charging in the back ; it is a dangerous 
charge. But, unfortunately, the law has in 
practice been interpreted to mean, "Thou 
shalt not touch with thy body, run into, or 
otherwise meet thine opponent in the back, 


by Google 

18.— knebing: a wickkp trick. 

inal from 




no matter how lightly," Consequently, un- 
scrupulous players have come to play for being 
charged in the back. The ball is kicked in the 
air, two men of opposite colours are beneath 
it Promptly both turn their backs on one 
another, each hoping the other, in 
his endeavour after the falling ball, 
will be found guilty of charging in 
the hack. A free kick is cheap 
at the price. To my mind, a 
charge is a charge ; an acci- 
dental and harmless rustic 
against a man's back is not a 
charge. Really, if a player 
purposely manceu- 
vres to make an- 
other player run into 
his back, he ought _ 

to be cautioned for 
tingentlemanly con- 
duct. Is he not 
making himself a 
stumbling-block for 
the innocent, that 
the innocent may 
offend ? 

The " throw in from touch " involves several 
peccadilloes. The thrower must face the field 
squarely, keep some part of both feet on the 
touch line, and deliver the ball fairly over his 
head with equal force of both hands. In 
my early football days the thrower might 
do what he liked provided he kept both 
hands on the ball and did not cross the 
touch-line. But with this freedom the 
thrower practically had a run- 
up, and could fling with one 
hand, using the other merely as 
a retaining dummy* Certainly, 
in this style, some half-backs 
learnt to project the ball a mar- 
vellous distance ; in fact, with 
throwers like Hugh Wilson, of 
Sunderland, a throw-in from any 
point within some thirty yards 
of the corner flag was as good 
as a free kick. Wilson could 
drop the ball into goal-mouth. 
Hence the modern limitations. 
An illegal practice, which 
sometimes occurs now, is 
lifting one foot in a sort of 
one-legged jump at the 
moment of throwing ; but 
the linesman, specially con- 
cerned to watch throws-in 
andwith no other claim on 
his attention, rarely misses 
so patent an evasion of the 

VoL„ v ,_ 7 . 


law. Even now, however, the one-handed 
throw {20) sometimes escapes the eye of 
authority. To compass it the thrower takes 
the ball back over his head with a tortuous 
action of the arms, and in bringing it forward 
manages to use one hand alone ; 
the front hand merely presses 
the ball against the other, with 
which the thrower is able to 
effect something between a 
sling and a put But as the 
half -back who reveals a power 
of making noticeably long 
throws is watched % with extra 
care, there is no great scope 
for his unlawful 

The goalkeeper 
is the Consul of 
football. His 
person is sacro- 
sanct, or nearly 
so. He must not 
be charged unless 
either actually 
holding the ball 
in his hands or himself aggressively impeding 
an opponent. This, provided he does not 
stray outside the rectangular goal-area of 
twenty yards by six. In days when he was 
not thus protected it was common, while the 
ball was dropping from a lofty shot, to see 
the goalkeeper gazing aloft with a scared face 
and two imploring hands, aware by his sense 
of hearing that a heavy forward was charging 
full tilt at his defenceless chest. 
The picture was pathetic, \V\ R, 
Moon, the famous Corinthian 
goalkeeper, once came nobly out 
of such a quandary. The ball 
was dropping towards the ex- 
\ treme left hand top corner of the 

net. Moon stood in the centre of 
his goal, gazing upwards, the 
while a thirteen -stone forward 
was rushing at him, Forwardand 
ball arrived at the same moment, 
but Moon had slipped aside and 
fisted the ball out. 
We extricated a 
puffed and angry 
forward from the 
goal-net* Newton's 
First Law again ! 
But Moon on 
this occasion out- 
raged another 
law — the law of 


Original from*™ 11 ?" 

By Winifred Graham. 

|RS. MERRICK was very old, 
and Mrs, Merrick was hlind ; 
yet despite age and infirmity 
she absolutely teemed with 
romance. Enjoying her quiet 
country life, she still thrilled 
under the soft influence of Nature, revelling 
in the warmth and sunshine of summer, and 
welcoming the glad Y F uletide with almost 
childish excitement. 

She loved Christmas and New Year, and 
there glimmered an ever-glorious spark of 
youth in her soul, a fund of sympathy, which 
alighted especially upon the little people 
whose small feet stood by the brink of life's 
deep river. 

Her particular friend, Evelyn Maurice, was 
the tiny, flaxen-haired daughter of an artist 
who sold sufficient works of art to keep his 
wife and child from absolute penury. 

True, they were obliged to discard the 
vel ve t - 1 i m bed godd ess L uxu ry , and Mrs, 
Maurice, who herself had been reared in 
comfort and ease, was forced to bring Evelyn 
up in an atmosphere of Spartan frugality. 
The child, healthy, happy, and light-hearted, 
knew nothing of the cares besetting her 

-zed t TOgK 

parents' path, of the scheming to make two 
ends meet, and the nipping chill to genius 
which Albert Maurice frequently experienced. 

It was Christmas Eve, and Evelyn, with 
ruddy cheeks and eyes aglow, trotted off to 
Ivy Lodge, Mrs. Merrick's cosy domain. 

A widow and childless, she lived alone, 
surrounded by old and faithful servants, who 
worshipped the very ground she trod on, and 
would tell such tales of her goodness that 
many a wondering eye followed the frail, 
white-haired lady as she drove through the 
pretty village of Hiddlesthorpe, 

Evelyn bore on her shoulder a bough of 
mistletoe, and the rosy little face looking up 
through the green made a picture to set an 
artist's pulses beating with a thrill at the 
sight of Nature's delicate handiwork. 

She paused before starting on the doorstep 
of her own small house, glancing towards 
her father's studio, He loved the quaint, 
dull-green plant with its soft white berries, 
and she thought she must spare him a spray 
for his button-hole from the magnificent 
bunch she was bearing as a Christmas offer- 
ing to Mrs. Merrick. Tapping gently on the 
door, she p&3p®iri&J from 




Albert Maurice was seated by the stove, 
coughing. He looked strangely pale and 
emaciated, as he turned at the sound of his 
child's light footfall. 

On an easel that childish face lived again 
with its fluffy halo of hair, waist deep in 
golden corn, pushing her way through the 
ripe ears of grain and plucking at scarlet 
poppies. So vivid, so life-like, the canvas 
appeared, that the eye was forcibly attracted 
and held riveted by the spirited painting of 
sun-bathed youth in a field of splendour. 

44 Daddy, I've brought you a sprig of 
mistletoe for Christmas," cried the cheerful 
little voice, "and, oh ! I do want to-morrow 
to come — because — because " 

She stammered in her excitement, unable 
to get the words out fast enough. 

" Because ? " interrogated her father. 

" We're going to give mamma our present," 
pointing eagerly towards the picture of her- 
self. " I didn't mind standing a bit, though 
my legs did ache, for I knew she'd be so 
pleased when Christmas morning came. You 
haven't let her see it, daddy ? It is to be 
quite — quite a surprise ! " 

The man winced as he drew the little 
figure to his side. 

" Baby," he said (for he always called her 
"Baby"), " I had to tell mamma about it 
after all, and she wants me to sell the picture 
— the picture of you, my sweetheart ! The 
doctor came this morning, and he told her 
my cough was worse, that I must go abroad. 
She cried when he left, because she thought 
we should not be able to raise the money. 
To stop her crying I showed her the picture 
of you, and she blessed it, little one, with 
the tears still running down her cheeks. 
She said that perhaps it might save my life." 

Evelyn looked very grave now, for the 
whole complexion of Christmas had altered. 
The thrill of expectation, the glory of the 
glad to-morrow, the mystic music of the 
festive season, faded to a minor key. The 
pink cheeks paled, and there was a nervous 
trembling of the rose-bud mouth. 

"Poor daddy," whispered the child, putting 
her soft face against his. " You didn't want 
the picture to go away, but if mother would 
rather, and if it makes you well, we'll just 
forget about our Christmas surprise." 

She was trying to make the best of things, 
this baby philosopher, who felt for the first 
time the ugly grip of poverty's hand, mar- 
ring the bright prospect of surprising mother. 
Illness and death were but shadowy phantoms, 
beyond the limit of her knowledge or under- 
standing — strange mythical demons without 

reality, bad dreams which would fade with 
the carrying out of the' doctor's orders. 

Kissing her father she stole away, still 
bearing her burden of mistletoe bravely on 
her shoulder. But it was now with a sorrow- 
ful tread she wended her way towards Ivy 
Lodge. Unconsciously the elasticity deserted 
those small feet. 

A side-door leading from the garden 
generally remained unlocked, and the child 
had Mrs. Merrick's permission to come and 
go at will. No need for those little hands to 
ring a bell or sound a knocker; Evelyn's 
welcome was always assured. She had meant 
to creep in and surprise the old lady by 
kissing her suddenly under the mistletoe, but 
now the spirit of fun lay dormant, slumber- 
ing awhile under the influence of sorrow. 
Mrs. Merrick held out her hand lovingly, and 
drew the child into her arms, as Evelyn laid 
the bunch of mistletoe at the old lady's feet. 

" I thought," explained the childish voice, 
" that perhaps you would like Maria to hang 
the mistletoe over your chair as it's Christmas 
Eve, and you will be able to see it — with 
your mind's eye." 

Mrs. Merrick's " mind's eye " was always a 
subject of serious discussion with Evelyn. 
It was wonderful what that eye saw ! Even 
father's pictures were appreciated and dis- 
cussed when fully described, so that the 
mysterious orb had full opportunity of judg- 
ing their merits or defects. 

Mrs. Merrick used the expression casually 
once in connection with a sunset which 
Maria, her maid, pictured to her in glowing 

" I saw it with my mind's eye," she after- 
wards told Evelyn, and the term took a great 
hold upon the child's imagination. From 
that moment she talked to the old lady of 
this unseen eye in so quaint a fashion that 
Mrs. Merrick enlarged upon the idea with 
her usual love of fantasy and romance. 

" What has your mind's eye seen lately ? " 
Evelyn asked, nestling closer. 

This was generally her first question when 
she wished to be entertained. 

The old lady's voice sounded strangely 
weak as she replied, though a happy ex- 
pression of absolute contentment beautified 
her features, making her look almost unearthly 
in the twilight. 

44 It saw Christmas, clad in the sparkling 
garments of nearly eighty years ago, when I 
was a small wee child, and looked upon life 
as a fairy tale. The world used to be very 
white at Christmas-time in those good old- 

fashior tMi\fetfftffiftl ed half the 



winter through, for the seasons kept in their 
right pi Acres then, and there was no 'shilly- 
shallying." 5 

"I suppose," said Evelyn, wistfully, "you 
had surprises ?' ? 

Her mind was running on the picture ; 
she still felt hurt and sore that mother's 
surprise was spoilt. 

" Yes, yes, surprises by the dozen. The 
fairies came to visit us, and old Santa Claus 
filled our stock- 
ings to overflow- 
ing. Our mistle- 
toe boughs grew 
presents as thick 
as berries on 
every sprig. Per- 
haps Santa Claus 
will come to you, 
my child, for I 
believe he still 
visits the earth, 
though I am told 
the twentieth- 
century children 
no longer believe 
in him, Often 
he is so fright- 
ened by their 
cynicism h e 
passes in his 
reindeer carriage 
without stopping 
to fill their stock 
ings. When this 
happens the par- 
ants are so sorry 
they sometimes 
him, and that is 
why so many 
modern girls and 
boys will tell you 
he does not exist 
at all" 

Evelyn listened 
with breathless 

interest. She felt her heart-beats quicken, 
the blood mounted to her head. Her 
fingers tightened over Mrs. Merrick's withered 

" Perhaps/ 1 she gasped, her face lighting 
up with hope, " perhaps he would buy 
daddy's picture and give it to mother for a 
surprise after al I.- 
Mrs, Merrick looked puzzled. Even with 
her mind's eye she could not follow the gist 
of Kvelyn's speculations. 

MVhen 1 was a child/' she replied, " I 

Digitized by C-QOg IV 


always called to Santa up the chimney and 
told him what I wanted, and my reasons for 
wanting it. Why don't you try that plan 
now? Christmas Eve is the right time. 
Only speak loudly, for he is old and does not 
hear distinctly." 

Tremulously, yet with an eagerness that 
made itself felt in every nerve of the blind 
woman, Evelyn crept on tip-toe to the 
fender, glowing with ruddy embers that sent 

bright flames 
crackling up the 

" Santa l n she 
called — at first 
softly, but re- 
membering the 
warning raised 
her voice — 
11 Santa ! are you 
there? Well, 
just listen, please, 
because I know 
you're a little 

Mrs. Merrick 
bent forward, her 
hand behind her 
ear. The mind's 
eye, so dear to 
Evelyn, certainly 
saw at that 
moment a child- 
ish figure kneel- 
ing on the white 
hearthrug, a 
child whose 
wondering gaze 
turned upwards 
to the chimney* 

"It's like this/ 5 
continued the 
agitated voice, in 
piping accents ; 
"daddy's ill and 
the doctor says 
he must go away, 
so he has to sell the picture he did of me, 
instead of giving it to mamma for a 
Christmas present. I'd be ever so glad if 
you would buy it, and put it in mammas 
stocking if you happen to be our way to- 
night. Oh ! I am afraid it would be much 
too big to go in a storking, but you might 
just drop it through the window—that would 
do quite as well" 

The fire hissed round a great log, and 
seemed singing in reply. An eerie sensation 
gripped Evelvn's heart : she fancied a grey 

■_■ l I fc.1 1 I I '.1 I I JsJ II 




aid man in a scarlet robe looked down at her 
from the dark tunnel above, Instinctively 
she drew nearer Mrs. Merrick for protection* 

l * Do you think he heard ? " 

The question was put in a whisper; the 
old lady nodded and smiled* 

11 1 expect," she replied, " he will fancy 
you live here and stop at this house instead. 
I will hang my stocking up, arid you had 
better came round to-morrow morning and 
take the stocking home if there should be 
anything in it. I have not hung up my 
stocking for 


more than half 
a century." 

Mrs. Mer- 
rick's voice 
quavered ; if 
her mind's eye 
could have 
shed a tear it 
would un- 
doubtedly have 
done so at that 
minute. The 
other two eyes 
were hidden { 
behind dark 
glasses, which 
Mrs. Merrick 
usually wore 
when she sat 
near the fire. 

"Do you 
know, little 
one," she said, 
"I think I 
shall see soon." 

Evelyn star- 
ted—the words 
filled her with 

41 Really see 
— see every- 
thing?" she queried 
Before Mew Year ? " 

Mrs. Merrick stroked the child's silky 

" 1 don't know ; any day now — any day ! 

" Oh ! I am so glad. Mamma will be glad, 
and daddy thinks it's awful to be blind, 
though perhaps he doesn't remember about 
your mind's eye. Do you think you will see 
to-morrow, or on New Year's Day, or -or — 
even to-night ? " The child spoke with breath- 
less eagerness. 

"The old year/' murmured Mrs. Merrick, 
u will pass out with Failing sight and feeble 
steps, while the New Year, young, bright- 



eyed, and sprightly, trips in, to remind us 
there is always a beginning, even at the end. 
Possibly, little one, the New Year will bring 
me sight; he will creep gently to my side and 
kiss my eyelids with his rose-bud mouth. 
Then 1 shall see the flowers again and the 
eternal beauty of a land where it is ever- 
lasting New Year." 

Evelyn listened wonderingly, a great joy 

at her heart. The impersonation of a small, 

elf-like New Year, which would be born when 

the joy-bells rang, was as real to her as the 

mythical coming of a red-robed 

Santa Clans, only perhaps the 

tiny yearling stirred her 

pulses with a 

softer— a more 


thrill, that 

vague maternal 

spark which 

may slumber 

even in the 

breast of a 


Certai n ly 
Year New was 
full of possibili- 
t i e s — New 
Year held won- 
ders untold ! 

The weather 
seemed to have 
taken Mrs, 
Merrick's re- 
mark to heart , 
for there was 
no * l shilly- 
shallying ' 3 on 
morning. Crys- 
tal fingers hung 
from every 
twig, graceful 
icicles, com- 
panions in 
beauty to sil- 
very ever- 
greens, whose 
leaves were 
painted white 
with delicate 
hoar frost. 
Evelyn, thrilled by the excitement of 
yesterdays memories pilgrimaged to Ivy 
Lodge in search of Mrs. Merrick's stocking. 
Her sympathetic little soul divined that, in 
spite of this festive season, her parents were 
Original from 






not really happy, though they smiled when 
they caught the child's wistful eyes fixed 
upon them. 

" Of course," Evelyn told herself, " father 
was fretting about the picture." Christmas 
had been spoilt by the doctor's decree — that 
man of medicine having appeared like the 
demon in the pantomime to mar the beauty 
of the fairy tale. Yet somehow Evelyn knew 
the fairies were abroad that morning, and her 
youthful spirits rose as she unlatched the 
garden gate, tripping with light feet across 
the threshold of Ivy Lodge. 

Mrs. Merrick always stayed in bed till 
lunch, but Evelyn was allowed access to her 
room. The house seemed strangely quiet as 
the little figure entered. 

No sign of the faithful Maria, who always 
stayed with her mistress when the other 
servants were in church. 

Evelyn ran upstairs, humming a Christmas 
carol to herself. 

"She is just like a little bird in the house," 
Mrs. Merrick had often remarked. "It 
makes me feel young again when I hear those 
small feet pattering over the floor." 

With eager fingers the child carefully 
turned the handle of Mrs. Merrick's bed- 
room door. The blinds were drawn, and in 
the shaded light Evelyn could see the old lady 
lying with closed eyes upon the bed. Stealing 
softly to her side, she whispered cheerfully: — 

" A merry Christmas, Mrs. Merrick ! " 

The old lady made no sign ; evidently her 
sleep was deep and heavy. 

The child held her breath, for just at that 
moment her eyes fell upon a bulging stocking, 
crowned by a bunch of bright - coloured 
crackers, slung to the bed-post by cherry 
ribbons. Attached to the crackers dangled 
a label with Evelyn's name written in a big, 
clear hand, which suspiciously resembled 
Maria's fist. 

But Evelyn only knew that Santa Claus 
had called after all, and possibly she might 
find in the mysterious depths of the elongated 
receptacle some answer to her request of 
Christmas Eve. 

" Mrs. Merrick ! Mrs. Merrick ! " she 
gasped, excitedly : " he sended — he sended 
it. Oh, look !— look ! " 

She forgot grammar, forgot caution, forgot 
even that her good old friend was blind and 
could not look, as she flourished the precious 
discovery in front of the sleeping woman. 
Surprised at still receiving no reply, Evelyn 
communed with herself for a moment, 
hugging the treasured stocking close to her 
palpitating little breast. 

" Mrs. Merrick must be very tired to sleep 
so soundly ! " 

The child went close — close to the slum- 
bering form, and, bending down, kissed the 
withered cheek. At the touch of those warm 
young lips the old lady stirred and a smile 
broke over her face. 

" Dear little Evelyn," she murmured, 
" what have you found ? " 

She spoke drowsily, still smiling, as the 
eager voice explained that the stocking was 
full of parcels — really, really full to the 

Mrs. Merrick felt a responsive note of joy 
in her heart, which gave to the glad season 
its full flavour of festivity and charm as she 
listened to the wonderful intelligence. 

u Full to the top ! " she said, half incredu- 
lously. " And for one tiny girl like you ! 
Dear me, Santa must love you very much. 
Let me feel, to make sure. Yes, yes ; quite 
overflowing, and no mistake. You must 
carry it home just as it is, for your parents 
will like to see what is inside. Run as fast 
as your legs can carry you, but don't drop 
the stocking on the way. There might be 
something very valuable inside. I heard 
Santa Claus come in last night, and I spoke 
a few words to him. He told me he had 
made a compact with the New Year, who is 
still lying curled up somewhere in the clouds, 
and together they decided to try and give 
everyone their greatest wish, either on Christ- 
mas or New Year's Day. I must have been 
dreaming, I think, for I saw such a beautiful 
country — a country of light." 

Evelyn gazed at the unseeing eyes, reading 
Mrs. Merrick's thoughts. The child knew 
that she was hoping for that wonderful piece 
of good fortune of which they had talked the 
previous evening. 

The old lady was evidently tired, for she 
dismissed her little visitor with another warm 
kiss, urging her to guard the stocking 
carefully on her way back. 

Small need of this warning, for the two 
chubby hands grasped their prize in a fervent 
caress, while an almost agonizing eagerness 
to explore the contents gave wings to those 
swift feet. At the foot of the stairs she met 
Maria with a gentleman, the very same gentle- 
man Evelyn vaguely associated with the 
demon in the pantomime. 

" Gracious, child, you haven't been upstairs, 
surely, disturbing Mrs. Merrick at this hour 
in the morning ? " 

Maria's tone of censure in no wise per- 
turbed Evelyn, for she remembered the deep 
sincerity of Mrs. Merrick's kiss. 




M I went to fetch the stocking— the stock- 
ing that Santa Claus filled last night ! I 
came early because Mrs, Merrick said perhaps 
she would be able to see soon. Do you 

music as she hastened homewards. What 
did the presents or anything matter, now 
that Mrs- Merrick would assuredly see ? 
The child fancied every hungry little bird, 


think she will see by the New Year ? It is 
her greatest wish, and — and she told Santa 
about it ; you know, he has made a compact 
with the New Year." 

Evelyn was quite sure Mark and the 
doctor must also be in Mrs. Merrick's con- 
fidence. She looked up at them with her 
Face all aglow, and such an expression of 
earnest inquiry in her innocent eyes that the 
doctor bent down and patted the little 

li Make your mind easy," he said ; " your 
good old friend will soon * receive her sight '— 
probably by the New Year." 

He spoke reverently, and Maria, listening, 
wiped away a tear, at the same time smiling 
on the child, lest the sight of her emotion 
should dim the joy of that young heart. 

The glad news rang in Evelyn's brain like 

peeping through frozen bushes* chirruped the 
good tidings. 

The delightful anticipation made the 
prospect of New Year a thing of joy 
beyond all words, sending Evelyn's blood 
dancing through her veins with a thrill of 
grateful excitement, 

She burst in upon her parents, and 
stammered out the cheerful tidings, her 
cheeks still flushed, tier eyes sparkling. Mrs, 
Maurice looked inquiringly towards her hus- 
band. He put his fingers to his lips. 

Why damp the child's high spirits by 
explaining the true meaning of the doctor's 
words ? Why draw a cloud over the sun 
which shone so brightly for Evelyn at that 

As the child talked, telling of her visit to 

Ivy ^iffirvfem^Stor 6 6ifls of 



Santa Claus from their snug resting-place, 
with fresh exclamations of surprise and 
delight for each attractive gift. Right at the 
bottom she espied an envelope and> holding 
it up, asked her mother to read the writing, 

" it is addressed to daddy," Said Mrs. 

Evelyn took the mysterious missive to her 
fattier, trembling suddenly with delirious hope. 

" I told Santa about your picture," she 
gasped* M I 
told him up 
the chimney. 
Perhaps this is 
an answer, 
Oh ! please 
open it 
quickly, daddy 
— quickly!" 

Albert Mau- 
rice broke the 
seal ; appar 
ently he had 
caught the 
child's infec- 
tious excite- 
ment, for his 
hand also 
X rem hied. 

From out 
the envelope 
some crinkly 
paper flut- 
tered. Mrs. 
who was lean- 
ing over his 
shoulder, gave 
a little cry. 

" Five hundred 
pounds! 5 ' she 
gasped ; "a bank- 
note for five hun- 
dred pounds ! TP 

LncJosed, a Short » from out the rkvelopc samr 

letter explained. 

"I wish," wrote the old lady, "to pur- 
chase the picture of Evelyn and present it 
as a Christmas offering to Mrs. Maurice. I 
am making the dear child my heiress, and 
heg that under the circumstances you will 
not allow pecuniary difficulties to hamper your 
movements, if the doctor thinks a change 
advisable for your health. I feel the end is 
near for me, and Evelyn has brightened my 
life, so that through her eyes I saw the world 
as a pleasant picture, a place of sunbeams. 
Your little girl may some day realize that she 
herself was * Mrs. Merrick's mind's ej'e. 1 " 

Digitized by GoOQle 


The writing, cleverly manipulated by 
means of a frame, wavered across the page, 
but the weakly- formed letters were in reality- 
tinged with the beauty of kindness, shining 
like pure gold upon a letterpress of heartfelt 
love, of deep, unsullied devotion. 

A tear fell on Alberts hand, and looking 

up he saw his wife struggling to conceal her 

emotion, that the child, playing on the 

ground with her toys, might guess nothing of 

the great issues at stake. 

Evelyn only heard that glad excla- 
mation : "Five hundred 
pounds ! " 

"When will we take 
daddy away?" asked the 
ittle voice ; and already it 
seemed that the land of 
summer was mi raged in 
Mrs. Maurice s eyes, 
yv Oh ! soon — very soon 
within a few days, dar- 
ling," she answered, softly. 
"We shall 
watch htm 
growing better 
every hour; 
wont that be 
splendid ? ? ' 

"Yes," mur- 
mured the 
child, with a 
deep sigh of 
content; "we 
shall have a 
happy New 
Year, shaVt 
we, mother?" 
"A N e w 
Year," replied 
Mrs. Maurice, 
'to he remembered all 
our lives ; a New Year of 
blessings untold ! You 
crinkly PAMtft FLtrrTfcBED/' do not know what it 
means at present, but 

some time, when you are older " 

14 Santa really didn't make any mistake," 
broke in Evelyn. " He meant the stocking 
for me, though he left it at the wrong house ! 
Wasn't that funny of Santa ? » 

The child laughed light-heartedly, and the 
sound of her laughter heralded the coming 
of brightness t leaving the dark night of 
poverty in shadowy mists behind. 

For it so happened that, as the bells rang out 
to herald the birth of the New Year, Mrs. Mer- 
rick reached that land which travellers in this 
earthly valley see only with their mind's eye, 


10! Tapster!" cried the inn- 
5f frequenting gentlemen in the 
old drama ; and it would 
seem that sometimes the 
tapster didn't come quickly 
enough, and was soundly 
rated in consequence. A deal of things 
have changed since then, and nowadays the 
tapsters come upon us unbidden, much too 
quickly and much too often, spite of dodging. 
For, Of course, when I headed this article 
14 Tapsters " I didn't intend to write about 
barmen, but about the numberless [>crsons 
who persistently try to "tap" whomsoever 
they can run to earth ; the verb " to tap " 
implying an attempt to extract coin of the 
realm in exchange for nothing — unless you 
count a purely ornamental promise. 

All sorts of fraternities are banded into 
clubs and associations nowadays, and there 
are a number of seedy gentlemen hanging 
about the Strand and Fleet Street, not to 
mention other places, who might well join 
forces under the title of the Persevering 
Society of W ood peckers ; for they tap every- 
body, hopeful or hopeless, so industriously 
and persistently that I am sure not one of 
them would draw the line even at the hollow 
beech tree celebrated in the song ; indeed, 
when things are a little slack I sometimes 
observe them trying to tap each other, and 
after such a desperate attempt as that— well, 

VoL xxy.—Q. 


a hollow beech tree, or even a 
solid boot-tree, would seem almost 

Tapsters are not all of that 
sort, of course. Some tap with- 
out offer ing any promise at all, 
and some tap for charitable pur 
poses. And the promise, too, 
when there is one— the promise is 
not always the same. At one end 
of the scale is the ingenious and insinuating 
" Please, Mr. Jones, can you give mother 
change for a shilling, and she'll send in thc f 
shilling next week?" of the little girl in the 
shop, and at the other end the plain 
and unsophisticated "This 'ere fist's a 
month in 'orspital, an 1 this J ere other one's 
sudden death ; if you don't stand a quart 
you'll 'ave 'em both!" of the hooligan bandit. 
Between these two promises lies a vast field 
for variation and diversity, and great oppor- 
tunity for the exercise of imagination. The 
tapster newly begun business — and in this 
particular trade it is often the novice who 
does best, being unsuspected — the budding 
tapster of old acquaintance, only just come 
down in the world, and wearing a suit of 
clothes good enough for the pretence, will 
ask you, casually, if you have change for a 
fifty-pound note about you. Probably you 
haven't. At this the tapster will seem 
startled, surprised, annoyed, and puzzled. 
He will say that one can't pay a cabman with 
a fifty, and that it would be unwise to trust 
the man with it to get change ; which is true 
enough. He will meditate on his difficulties 
for a moment, and then, struck with a sudden 
and brilliant idea, he will say, "Ah! I tell 
you what ! Lend me a sovereign. See ? " 

In these circumstances I advise you not 
to see ; but if see you must, then see the fifty- 
pound note. 

Original from 




There is a more impudent sort of tapster 
than this — the well-dressed tapster who 
never saw you before in his life, but pretends 
he is an old friend. " Halloa, old chap ! " 
cries the tapster ; " who'd have thought of 
seeing you ? W hy, you've been a stranger 

ever since . But there, I'm in a hurry 

now. Where will you be this evening?" 

Perhaps you weakly confess that you will 
be in your rooms, wondering the while 
how you can have forgotten the name of 
this old acquaintance. 

44 Good ! " cries the tapster, heartily. " Til 
run round and look you up. We'll talk over 
old times together. Good-bye till then." 
The tapster turns as though going, but 
hesitates, and feels his waistcoat - pocket. 
44 By the way," he bursts out, rushing back 
at you hurriedly, 44 lend me a sovereign till 
I see you this evening. I've come out with- 
out a cent ! " 

The thing is done with such a bewildering 
dash that sometimes it succeeds; the victim, 
perhaps conscious of a bad memory for faces, 
perhaps persuaded that he really does re- 
member seeing the tapster somewhere else, 
parts with the coin before he has time to 
collect his sober senses. And yet the remedy 
is so easy ; so easy that I applied it myself — 
and I am not what is called a ready-witted 
man — on the only occasion on which the 
dodge was tried on me. I was in a hansom, 
and the tapster, with every demonstration of 
delight in the recognition, rushed into the 
road waving his stick, and so stopped the 

" Why, how do you do ? " cried the tapster, 
grabbing at my hand. " Are you going to 
the club?" 

It was a good guess, though easy, for it 
was just about lunch-time. I didn't remember 
the face, but there are a great many men in a 
club, and at that time 1 had never heard of 
the tapster's dodge. " Yes," I said, " when 
I have made a business call." 

44 That's capital. I've got something rather 
good to tell you about, but I'm in a hurry 
now. How long will you be there ? " 

44 Till about half-past two, I think." 

44 That'll do -I'll be there by two. Ta-ta ! 
But — I say, lend me half a sovereign till 
then, will you ? " 

I think my eyes opened a trifle wider. 
44 Till you come to the club?" I asked. 

44 Yes; at two." 

44 And will you bring the half-sovereign 

44 Of course I will ! " My old acquaintance 
looked a little hurt. 

by Google 

" But," I asked, " what club will you bring 
it toV* 

That was a 44 nobber." He tried to bluff 
with something like 4t Oh, you know— the old 
place " ; but as several cldbs are old places, 
and mine doesn't happen to be one of them, 
I expressed an apprehensi&n that he might 
carry my half-sovereign to the wrong club. 
Whereupon, with an uneasy grin, he dropped 
off the step of the cab and I saw him no 
more. He has not been to the club yet. 

There is a kind of tapster who preys on 
young journalists green to Fleet Street. He 
haunts tavern snuggeries in the back settle- 
ments of that neighbourhood, and he subsists 
wholly on taps (of two sorts) — or at least on 
what proceeds from them. He patronizes his 
victims with an affable swagger that is thought 
to be Bohemian, and they begin by supposing 
him editor of the Quarterly Review. When 
that illusion fails it is succeeded by a sort of 
vague impression that he writes the first 
leader every night in the Times ; and when 
at last it becomes apparent to the greenest 
comprehension that he performs no more 
exhausting labour than an occasional gentle 
tapping, varied by the intermitting elevation 
of a pot slightly above the level of the chin, 
then they fall back on the conviction that he 
is an unfortunate genius, neglected by an 
inappreciative world, and probably the victim 
of professional jealousy. But the tapster 
goes on tapping and tapping, and the taps in 
the tavern go on running in the hopeless 
task of alleviating his thirst ; and at last, in 
some bewildering medley of taps that the 
Cock Lane Ghost might envy, the green 
young journalist stumbles on the truth and 
grows suddenly less green than before. . 

But meantime he has gaped at many 
wonderful tales told by the tapster. 4t What ! 
Didn't know Tennyson? Well, that sounds 
odd to an old stager like me. We all 
used to know old Tennyson. Pity you 
didn't know me before he died — I'd have 
introduced you ; interesting chap, rather. 
Well, when I was sporting editor of the 
Saturday Review, Tennyson used to do the 
prize-fights for the Atlien&um. There was a 
big fight once up in the wilds of Hertfordshire 
— Nubbly Bits and Patsy Smuggers, and as 
good a set-to as ever I saw. It seems the 
police were put on the track, and the party 
got chased about from one place to another 
— Tennyson nearly got caught once — so that 
it was pretty late when they were thrown off 
the scent and the fight was brought off at 
last. Well, when the fight was over — I won 
a fiver off Tennyson over Nubbly Bits, and 
Original from 





precious angry he was to lose — we were 
miles off a railway station, Both our papers 
were going to press next day, and in those 
times the A then mum was very particular 
about having its fights up to date. All the 
other press-chaps started off at the double for 
the railway, but Tennyson hung back and I 
stayed with him. I knew he had some game 
on, but I couldn't guess what it was. When 
he found he couldn't shake me off he con- 
fessed that he had a time-table in his pocket, 
from which he knew that the other fellows, 
having to go eight miles across country, would 
he sure to lose the last train, which went in 
an hour As for him, he had spotted two 
donkeys in a field, and he meant cutting straight 
for London and the Aihemeum office on one 
of them. So, as he couldn't get his donkey 
without showing me the way, we shared those 
donkeys between us, and a ripping fine gallop 
we had in the moonlight, steeplechasing all 
the way to London. Tennyson got pounded 
up in a cemetery once, and I might have left 
him and had the scoop all to myself, but I 
thought that would be rather rough on him, 
the donkeys Seing his own idea. So 1 
waited while he, found a soft place in the 

by GoOgJC 

hedge and backed 
hisdonkey through 
it, and off we went 
again. It cost me 
something, too, for 
Tennyson won his 
fiver back in a bit 
of a race we had 
along the Bamet 
road, through my 
donkey taking 
fright at a white 
pump and pitch- 
ing me over his 
head, Tennyson 
had a bit of a 
cropper, too, 
through his don 
key sitting down 
suddenly and let- 
ting him slide ofT 
behind, into a 
ditch. First time 
I ever pulled a 
Laureate out of 
a ditch, I give you 
my word of honour. 
Well, we turned 
up all right at last, 
and a precious fine 
stir we made at 
the Aihemeum and 
Saturday Revmv offices, with our donkeys 
dead beat and our clothes all plastered in 
mud, and Tennyson with only one boot, 
having left the other in the ditch. But 
he got most out of it, after all, for he 
used the idea of that donkey - ride for 
his celebrated poem, ' How We Brought the 
Good News from Aix to Ghent, 1 and made a 
pot of money out or it.* 5 

Here, perhaps, the green beginner would 
venture to hint that he had supposed 
Browning to be the author of the poem in 
question- But no greenhorn could ever floor 
the tapster, "Browning!" he would ex- 
claim. " Not a bit of it Don't you believe it. 
His name was put to it, of course, but he 
paid Tennyson for that I said Tennyson 
made a pot of money out of it, you know, 
Browning often used to do things like that- 
half his poem? are what he paid us chaps to 
do for him. But you didn't know Browning, 
did you? Old pal of mine, Browning, By 
the way, got half a crown about you ? " 

There are varieties even among the 
tapsters of Fleet Street I have heard of one 
who boldly took on himself the name of an 
author whose first book had been immensely 




successful, and went about tapping on the 
strength of it, sometimes on the plea that he 
couldn't get his royalties till next month, at 
others on the representation that his pub 
lishers had swindled him and were paying 
nothing. In consequence several innocent 
persons lent small sums to a distinguished 
novelist who never heard of the transactions. 
The plain and open tapster who accosts 
you in the street purely to beg may generally 
be known by an amazing over-politeness in 
opening the conversation. He is the only 
person I know who begs pardon for taking 
the liberty of speaking to you, and by this sign 


you shall know him. They all begin by 
begging pardon for taking this not so very 
rare liberty, but only the duffers go on 
straightway to tap. The proficient tapsters 
approach the tap sideways, so to speak. 
Something like this, with a quick touch of 
the hat^brim :— 

" Beg pnrdon, sir, Pm sure I 'umbly beg 
your pardon lor takin' the great liberty of 
speak in' to you in a public thoroughfare like 
this, which I am quite aware it is a great 
liberty, sir, though trustin' you will kindly 
pardon the great liberty of a pore, J ard- 
workin' man, sir, in takin* the great liberty of 

Digitized by Q 

askin 1 if this street is the 'Ajynarket, sir ? " 
(Or the way to the Strand, or the day of the 
month, or something.) 

You answer the question, but you don't 
stop the stream of apologetics. " Thank you 
kindly, sir," pursues the tapster, pouring out 
the words like Mr. Grossmith in a patter- 
song ; "thank you kindly, sir, if you'll so far 
jrardon the liberty of a pore, 'ard-workin' 
man, sir, in a skin 1 tile question, which un- 
fortunately I was forced to take the great 
liberty, sir t through bein'out o* work eighteen 
months an J nothink to eat since last Toosday 
fortnight, sir, upon my word of honour, 
which nothink but the 
cries for bread of fourteen 
young children in arms 
would prevail on me, sir 
— so igstreme kind as 
you've bin to me, sir, 
which I shall never forget 
— to take the very great 
liberty, sir t in a public 
thoroughfare, of askin' 
which is the nearest 
work'ouse ? " 

If once more you give 
him information instead 
of coppers, you only pro- 
voke another speech of 
the same sort, for he can 
go on like that for a deal 
longer than you want to 
listen. It is only in the 
extreme that he will 
directly ask for money, 
though I fancy that it is 
merely caution that marks 
his guarded way, as they 
say in the lyric ; for if 
accused of begging by 
some watchful policeman 
he can always plead that 
he was only asking a 
harmless question. And 
the questions are endless in variety. I give 
my solemn word that I was once buttonholed 
by one of these seedy tapsters with the 
apologetic request that I would tell him the 
number of stars on the national flag of the 
United States ! This is a simple fact. 

I was once approached by a snuffy old chap 
with a I^atin quotation. I forget which it was 
— sper& meliora or explorani adtvrsa viras, or 
some familiar tag of the sort out of a phrase- 
book. He had an idea of overpowering 
me with his erudition, I fancy, but I could 
remember the phra&e-baok too, u JNk pfas 
ultra" I said, with a significant wave of the 




band " Terra firma? I added, " Non 
compos mentis. Vox tt pr&ttrea nihil. Id 
on parte /ran fa is" 

That was beyond his depth. For an 
instant he looked puzzled and a trifle sus- 
picious : then he broke into a ghastly, uneasy 
smile and evaporated. 

The most industrious mendicant tapster I 
know has tried me half-a-dozen times in a 
month or so, hut never seems to remember 
me — which is why I conclude him to be 
industrious, attempting many customers and 
forgetting them. He is a plausible young 
man, and he always catches me at the door 
of some office or near a building with offices 
in ft What he wants is not money— he 
would scorn to beg, as he has told me so often. 
No, he wants a situation, or some temporary 
work, in the office I am going into, or leaving ; 
with something immediate on account to take 
home first to his starving wife— who is some- 
times his mother, by the way, but that is a 
trifle, I always offer to go with him and 
personally prefer an application on his behalf 
for any extra clerical work that may be going 
at the police office in New Scotland Yard, 
but he never seems to jump at the chance. 
Perhaps he has been there already. 

I need say little about the 
begging - letter writer ; most 
people know him, 1 suppose 
there is a physical possibility 
that once a begging-letter to a 
stranger may have been written 
by a person in 
genuine distress, 
but I doubt if the 
possibility ever 
became a fact. It 
isn't done ; and if 
it were the letter 
wouldn't draw a 
shilling — it 
wouldn't be 
planned artfully 
enough* My ex- 
perience — and I 
have had one — 
shows that the 
more artistically 
pathetic the letter, 
the bigger die 
fraud. Perhaps 
those threatening 
suicide are the 
least deceptive. 
"Sir: 7 writes the 
epistolary tapster. 

promps me to write to you ? Nothing, I fear, 
but the raveings of a disorderd mind which 
will soon soon be in another world world. 
You are a stranger to me and never 
owed me a pound pound like so maney 
others, as I can certify with my dyeing pen. 
Maney of them in the days of my giddey 
prospearity had had a pound of me, and for 
want of such a pound pound I am about to 
comit the aweful crime of self self-destruc- 
tion. Nothing can can save me, and I begg 
you will not interfere, O my happy happy 
yuth. Then I had had maney a pound, and 
welth and helth smiled on me, accumpanied 
by the highest education that money could 
procure- And now utterly alone alone in 
the cruel world world, and longing for 
human sympathey ere I leave it for ever 
ever, the cries of maney dear children, in- 
cluding twins, and their sainted mother 
mother dyeing of complicated lumbago, 
promps me to pour out my sole to a perfect 
stranger before com i ting the aweful crime of 
self-destruction* my hnppy yuth, when I 
had maney a pound! Nothing can save me, 
unless some angle angle from heaven 
was to send a pound pound before the 
nine o'clock post to - morrow evening, 
Thursday, As that is a im- 
posible miracle miracle, I write 
to bid a perfect perfect stranger 
good-bye. It would not matter 
matter if the pound came in a 

'What is it 


by dOOgle 





registered letter to this address, or a postal 
order order or stamps would save me me 
equally well. But why this this raveing ? 
Nothing can save me. At nine o'clock (after 
the post post) to-morrow evening, Thurs- 
day, I shall comit the aweful crime of self- 
destruction at this adress, first-floor back, 
second bell on the door-post door-post. I 
begg you will not interfere." 

And if you have an ounce of common 
sense you don't. 

You will observe that the frequent repeti- 
tions of words are designed to give the 
appearance of forlorn and agitated . distrac- 
tion, but the duffer altogether overdoes the 
business. For you must not take this as a 
typical begging-letter — it is only a typical 
clumsy one. The most of them are far 
cleverer than this, with a pathos that would 
soften the heart of a grindstone — an inex- 
perienced grindstone, that is. As for our 
friend, the intended suicide, you will probably 
hear from him again after the rash act. He 
will write to say that he has just been left 
a helpless widow with nine children, all 
under three years old, and is trying to get 
together a little money to start himself in 
business as a day- nurse. 

Another form of begging-letter takes the 
form of a subscription list handed in at your 
front door, and headed with a beautifully 
written document like a lawyer's deed, begin- 
ning This is to Certify, or Whereas, or 
something equally likely to catch the eye and 
give you an uneasy suspicion of a writ. The 
document sets forth how the bearer, or her 
husband (usually a woman calls), by a wholly 
unparalleled series of calamities, has been 
deprived of his horse and cart, his house, 
his ox, his ass, and everything that is his 
or was, and how certain eminent and dis- 
tinguished clergymen, magistrates, mayors, 
and colonels, of whom you never heard 
before in your life, wish to conspire with you 
to buy him a complete new set. He was 
driving innocently home from market, per- 
haps, when the horse took fright at an 
unidentified balloon with a flag in it, dashed 
along the road and knocked over his invalid 
sister, who was coming to tell him that his 
father had just broken his leg and needed 
instant pecuniary assistance, kept on and 
knocked over the house and killed the ox 
and the ass inside, flew off at a tangent and 
totally destroyed a very expensive Lord 
Mayor's procession, which cost him his last 
farthing, spilt a few more people, and killed 

his youngest child, who happened to be in 
the way, and finally wound up in a total 
smash, in which the horse and cart and 
vegetables (he is usually a greengrocer) 
mutually and totally annihilated each other, 
leaving him a helpless invalid with quite a 
number of families dependent on him. It 
, is all set out with such solemn circum- 
stantiality, in such astonishing legal form, 
with "notwithstanding," and "aforesaid," and 
u hereinbefore mentioned," and " hereby," and 
"nevertheless," and "the said horse and 
cart," just like an indenture or mortgage, 
that . nobody but a .heartless cynic could 
refuse to believe it, every word. Personally, 
I am a heartless cynic. 

It is rather a relief to turn to honester 
tapsters, who come on behalf of others — though 
there is a most embarrassing crowd of them. 
The number of people who want to give 
somebody else blankets, and coals, and 
nurses, and warm clothing, and orphanages, 
and hospitals, and convalescent homes, and 
old-age pensions, and sick-funds, and surgical 
appliances, and days in the country, and 
all at my expense, is positively distracting. 
If I went so presumptuously far as to rank 
myself as a charitable institution, and divided 
my total hard-earned yearly income among 
the lot of us equally, we should get about 
twopence farthing apiece. I don't think that 
would be a great assistance to any of them, 
and I feel I should have some difficulty in 
living on it myself. But if somebody must 
tap me I would rather it were some of 
these — though I wish they wouldn't apply 
personally. It used to be a terrible thing, 
living in accessible chambers as I used 
to do, to have to meet a constant pro- 
cession of charitable ladies, who came in 
(they didn't always knock) to demand a 
subscription for some most deserving charity, 
and who received with a glassy stare of 
incredulity my plea that I couldn't possibly 
support fourteen charitable funds a day out 
of my slender lack of resources. They were 
quite terrible, some of these ladies ; they 
pinned one with an air of having at last 
caught some slippery criminal who had de- 
frauded them for years, but whom they were 
determined to make pay up now. They talked 
of my duty to my fellow-man and of the sin of 
hoarding my wealth ; hoarding my wealth, 
great heavens ! I assure you I have been 
accused of hoarding my wealth when it con- 
sisted entirely of five and fourpence halfpenny, 
and a tailor's bill for seven pounds ten. 

by Google 

Original from 

Sensational Magical Illusions. — //. 




illusion is supposed to take 

place in a 

prison, and I 

have seen it 
presented in a dramatic 
manner with much effect- 
On the curtain rising a cell 
is seen in the centre of the 
stage in which a convict 
is sitting upon a plank scat 
in a dejected mood— being 
carefully guarded by a 
warder. His sweetheart 
pays him a visit, and, being 
assured of his innocence, 
promises to help him to 
escape, even if she has to 
pay the penalty by taking 
his place. The warder, overhearing this, 
promptly turns the lady out, and informs the 
prisoner of his intention to 
lock him in the irons against 
she wall of his cell. The 
prisoner pleads against it, 
but without avail Members 
of the audience are invited 
to lock him up by means of 
padlocks attached to five 
steel bands which encircle 
his neck, both wrists, and 
ankles^ making his escape 
impossible (Fig. i). The 
audience sometimes find 
their own padlocks. The 
curtains are now drawn 
across the front of the cell, 
which is raised about two 
feet from the stage, and the warder paces up 
and down, keeping strict guard. After about 

one minute has elapsed the warder goes to the 
cell to see all is right, and on drawing the 
curtains aside is astonished 
to find that the prisoner has 
escaped, while in his place, 
firmly secured in the irons, 
is found his sweetheart The 
warder sternly demands to 
know the meaning of this, 
inquiring, "Where is the 
prisoner ? " The answer 
comes from the hack of the 
hall: "Here, and free!" 
And the convict runs in 
from the auditorium* 

The secret of this illusion 
is not centred in the locks, 
as one is led to suppose, 
but depends upon five lever 
bars at the back of the board to which the 
prisoner is locked. All are moved at one 
operation, by sliding one of 
the bolts about an inch {A, 
Fig. 3)- All the fittings are 
fastened on to the board by 
a bolt at each corner. This 
movable bolt does not 
penetrate right through like 
the others, but only half 
way, and is attached to one 
of the bars which moves the 
whole lever arrangement at 
the back, releasing the iron 
staples or hasps to which 
the steel bands are locked 
(Fig. 4), allowing the 
bands to be opened at 
the hinged end by bring- 
ing the staples up through the board with 
the padlocks attached (X, Fig. 4). The 


'A Nw»jfc ~Uit 



— — *-| 







• . 




<3nglnal from 

6 4 


back of the cell is double, with the levers 
placed between the two quite concealed. 
The back also works upon pivots in the 
centre (Fig. 2), and directly the curtains are 
drawn, concealing the prisoner, the sweet- 
heart gets through a trap in the scene behind 
on to a little platform at the back of the 
cell, turns the back half-way round upon 
its pivot, quickly moves the bolt, opens 
the bands> and releases the prisoner, who in 
turn places her in captivity, closes 
the bands, shuts back the bolt, 
and leaves all firmly secured as 
before, He turns the back round 
to its place again, quickly slips 
through the trap in the scene 
(Fig. 2), and round to the audi- 
torium while the discovery is 
being made by the warder. 

The Indian sack trick is gener- 
ally performed by the aid of a 
trick sack, but the method 
described here is more interest- 
ing, for it will enable anyone to 
get out of any ordinary sack. 
The performer may be first tied 
with his hands behind his back 
and put into a large sack which 
he has not seen before, the 
mouth of the sack being then 
tied and the knots sealed. A 
screen is then placed in front of 
it for a few seconds, when the performer steps 
from behind it with the sack across his arm 
and free from the ropes which bound luin s 
while the sack is found to be still securely 
tied and the seals unbroken* After untying 
the sack the rope is found inside 
with the knots still intact. 

This is very mystifying ; yet 
the only thing required is a little 
bundle about six inches long and 
four inches wide, tightly filled 
with straw. After the performer 
is in the sack the voluntary 
assistants proceed to close the 
mouth of it. The perform it has 
already quickly freed his hands 
by the method presently 
described, and pushes his bundle 
up into the folds (Fig< 5), which 
is not perceived by the persons 
who are winding the cord round 
them. White the screen is being 
placed in front of him the per- 
former quickly pulls the bundle 
down and pockets it. The cord 
around the neck has now 

Digitized by K^i 


become very loose, and it is an easy matter 
for him to slip his arm through the open- 
ing caused by the removal of the bundle 
and work the cord up over the sack (Fig. 6), 
open it, and get out He then slips the cord 
over the mouth of the sack again, which fits 
snugly, the folds having been disturbed 
causing a tightness again, leaving absolutely 
no trace as to how the performer got out. 
It is all very simple and requires but little 
practice to cause a great surprise 
with this illusion, 

I shall now describe how the 
performer gets out of the ropes 
that bound him, which is a feat 
in itself, and which is performed 
in many of the cabinet tricks. 
It is generally known as the 
spiritualistic rope test. 

The performer's hands are 
usually firmly tied behind his 
back, the spare rope being often 
used around the legs and body 
as well, so completely securing 
him that it seems impossible to 
extricate himself without aid ; 
but this he always does, and in 
a few seconds only. The secret 
lies in the method by which he 
is tied at the start The person 
tying him is unconsciously forced 
to start in the manner the per- 
former wishes, The latter pre- 
sents the left hand or wrist to be tied first. 
When this is done, he puts that arm behind 
his back and gives the spare rope above the 
knots a couple of twists^ quickly covering it 
with the other wrist, The rope is now 
hrought up over the right wrist, 
both being firmly tied together, 
with the palms of the hands up- 
wards. When the performer is 
out of sight, he has only to 
reverse the hands with the 
palms downwards, and the 
twist is then undone, enlarging 
the circlet around the wrist, 
and allowing plenty of space to 
slip his hand easily through and 
release himself from any number 
of bonds, or to perform any trick 
in a cabinet or behind a screen. 
By quickly slipping his hand 
once more through the loop 
and twisting it to its original 
position the knots can be again 
examined and the performer 
found to be still quite securely 




rs Lstit. 



The following series of illusions, though 
varied much in effect and method of pre- 
sentation, all owe their success to a clever 
arrangement of plane mirrors, fixed at an 
angle of forty-five degrees with the object to 
be reflected. In 
one only is clear 
plate - glass used. 
This I will describe 
first ; it is known 
as il Death to 

In this illusion 
a pretty young 
lady is placed in 
an upright coffin 
facing the audi- 
ence, and is seen 
to turn grad u all y 
to a skeleton, no- 
thing apparently 
remaining of her 
beauty but the 
bones and skull. 
The audience are 
allowed to view 
this for a few 
moments, after 

which the skeleton gradually changes 
back to its original form of the pretty 
lady, who steps out of the coffin as full 
of life and smiles as when she entered it. 
This is but a new presentation of lm Pepper's 
Ghost," and the illusion is caused by 
a ** dissolving view " effect. The hall in 
which it is presented is darkened, the only 
lights being a row of incandescents on each 
side of the coffin, to illumin- 
ate the lady subject white, 
and the whole stage is draped 
in black, adding to its great 
brilliancy, as well as serving 
another purpose. The wings 
each side are also black, and 
behind one of these at right 
angles with the coffin is a 
skeleton, framed in a coffin 
exactly the size of the coffin 
in sight This also has two 
rows of lights, to illuminate 
it when required. Crossing 
the stage at an angle of forty- 
five degrees with the back is 
a large sheet of clear plate- 
glass, well polished, its ledges 
being hidden by the win^s 
and quite unnoticeable to the 
audience (A, Fig. 8). The 
lady takes her place in the 

VoL«v.- 9 . 


coffin (Fig. 7), which is exactly the .same 
height as the skeleton behind, and then the 
'* change" is obtained by simply turning 
down the lights reflected upon her, and at 
the same time turning up the lights illumin- 
ating the unseen 
skeleton { B, Fig, 
8), producing a re- 
flection of it upon 
the glass (C, Fig. 
8) in exactly the 
position to obscure 
the lady, who is 
now in darkness, 
and which appears 
to be in the same 
place as the lady 
really is. The dis- 
tance between the 
real coffin and the 
glass is precisely 
the same as that 
between the glass 
and the skeleton 
behind- The illu- 
sion thus obtained 
is perfect, and 
similar in effect 
to a magic-lantern dissolving view. 

" She " is an inspiration from the famous 
novel of that title, with a somewhat similar 
ending- — "She" being consumed by fire. 
This illusion is presented with a large black 
screen around, with a black top to it, form- 
ing a dark chamber, giving it a gruesome 
effect. In the centre of this chamber is a 
fancy table, with four electric lights underneath 





" to prove the absence of drapery or glasses," 
upon which a lady, dressed in prehistoric 
fashion, is placed ( \ \g, 9). Just above her head 
a circular canopy is suspended, which is 
lowered by the performer, unrolling from its 
lower edge and descending to the top of the 
table, thus forming a kind of tent entirely 
covering die lady. In a few seconds smoke is 
seen issuing from beneath it on all sides, which 
denotes that the destruction of " She ,J byfire is 
being rapidly carried out. The canopy is again 
drawn up and a ghastly spectacle Ls disclosed, 
for the lady has vanished, and in her place 
are seen only a few smouldering remains, 
including a skull and a number of bones 
(Fig. 10), If the lady could at this moment 
be seen, she would be found quietly resting 
in the wings, watching the audience's surprise 
unnoticed. A careful study of the illustrations 
will explain clearly the 
working of this illusion. 
Fig, 11, pa r t i cula r 1 y , 
explains the whole 
mystery. This is due 
to the arrangement of 
two mirrors of the same 
height as the table, 
meeting behind the 
centre leg and running 
at an angle of forty-five 
degrees back to the 
corners of the screen. 
Across the top of the 
mirror, covering the 
triangular recess, is 



**& tl*— TH* ftXPL 

by dOOgle 

stretched the same material as that with 
which the back of the screen is covered, 
making it entirely un noticeable, The sides 
of the screen reflect into the mirrors, forming 
a continuation of the back. The floor also 
is continued in reflection* There are two 
legs only to the table (besides the centre leg) 
and two lights only. These are reflected in 
the mirrors and form the completion of it as 
seen. Fig. 11 makes all this clear. When 
the canopy is lowered and while the 
performer is li arranging " it the lady 
drops a trap in the table by a movement 
of one foot and gently, but quickly, 
steps down behind the mirrors. She then 
places the skull and bones upon the table 
and, with a silent match, lights the methy- 
lated spirit which is on them, replaces the 
top of the table, bolts it, and creeps away 
under the black cover 
to behind the scenes. 
As soon as the per- 
former hears the bolt 
slip over he can raise 
the canopy and show the 
result already described 
(Fig. 1 a). All this takes 
only a few seconds, and 
it seems incredible that 
the lady could have so 
completely vanished and 
for the smouldering 
remains to be placed in 
her stead in so short 


Original Trom 


The Sorceress of the Strand. 

By L. T. Meade and Robert Eustace. 

HERE is such a thing as being 
haunted by an idea or by a 
personality. About this time 
Vandeleur and I began to 
have nightmares with regard 
to Madame Sara. She visited 
us in our dreams, and in our waking dreams 
she was also our companion. We suspected 
her unseen influence on all occasions. We 
dreaded to see her visible presence in the 
street, in the Park, at the play — in short, 
wherever we went This sort of thing was 
bad for both of us. It began to get on our 
nerves. . It takes a great deal to get on the 
iron nerves of a man like Vandeleur ; never- 
theless, I began to think that they were 
seriously shaken when I received, on a 
certain afternoon in late October, the follow- 
ing note : — 

" My Dear Druce, — There are fresh 
developments in the grand hunt. Come and 
dine with me to-morrow evening to meet 
Professor Piozzi. New problems are on 

The grand hunt could, of course, only 
mean one thing. What was up now ? What 
in the name of fortune had Professor Piozzi, 
the greatest and youngest scientist of the 
day, to do with Madame Sara? But the 
chance of meeting him was a strong induce- 
ment to accept Vandeleur's invitation. He 
was our greatest experimental chemist. Six 
months ago his name had been on everyone's 
lips as the discoverer of a new artificial 
lighting agent which, if commercially feasible, 
would take the place of all other means 
hitherto used. 

Professor Piozzi was not yet thirty years 
of age. He was an Italian by birth, but 
spoke English as well as though it were his 
native tongue. 

At the appointed hour I found Vandeleur 
standing by his hearth. A table in a distant 
recess was laid for dinner. He greeted me 
with a gleam of pleasure in his eyes. 

"What is the new problem?" I asked. 
" It goes without saying that it has to do 
vith Madame Sara." 

" I am glad you were able to come before 
Piozzi put in an appearance," was Vandeleur's 
grave answer. 

He paused for an instant, and then he 
burst out with vehemence : — 

"I owe Sara a debt of gratitude. Hunt- 

Digitized byCoOQlc 

ing her as a recreation is as good as hunting 
a man-eating tiger. I am getting at her now 
by watching the movements of her victim." 

" Who is the victim ? " I interrupted. 
• "No less a person than Professor Piozzi." 

" Impossible," I answered. 

"Fact, all the same," he replied. "The 
Professor, notwithstanding his genius, is in 
many ways credulous, unsuspicious, and 
easily imposed upon." 

" Nevertheless, I fail to understand," I 

" Have you ever heard of the subtle power 
of love?" 

As Vandeleur spoke he stared hard at me, 
then burst into an uneasy laugh. 

"The Professor is in love," he said. 
" Madame's last move is truly prompted by 
genius. She has taken to exploiting one of 
the most extraordinary-looking girls who have 
electrified society for many a day. It isn't 
her mere beauty that draws everyone to 
Donna Marta ; it is her peculiarity. She 
has all the ways of an unconscious syren, 
for never was anyone less self-conscious or 
more apparently indifferent to admiration." 

" I have not heard of her," I said. 

"Then you have allowed the talk of the 
town to slip past you, Druce," was Vande- 
leur's answer. " Donna Marta is the talk of 
the town. No one knows where she has 
sprung from ; no one can confidently assert 
that this country or the other has had the 
honour of her nationality. She belongs to 
Madame Sara ; she accompanies her wherever 
she goes, and Professor Piozzi is the victim." 

" Are you sure ? " I asked. 

" Certain. He follows them about like a 
shadow. Madame is keeping more or less 
in the background for the present. Donna 
Marta is the lure. We shall next hear of 
an engagement between our young friend 
and this girl, whose antecedents no one 
knows anything about. Madame has an 
object, of course. She means mischief." 

It was my custom never to interrupt 
Vandeleur when he was explaining one of 
his theories, so I sat back in my chair and 
allowed him to proceed without comment on 
my part. 

" At the present moment," he continued, 
" I happen to know that the Professor has 
run to earth another of his amazing dis- 
coveries in the carbon compounds. Nc one 




but himself knows what it is as yet, not even 
his assistants. Next week he is going to 
explode the bomb-shell in the scientific world 
at a lecture at the Royal Institution. Every- 
one will flock there on the tip-toe of expecta- 
tion and curiosity. The thing is at present a 
dead secret, and the title of the lecture not 
even mentioned. He means to electrify the 
world. It is his little amusement to do 
this, as he did the Ethylene light affair. 
The man is, of course, a phenomenon, a 
genius, probably the most brilliant of our 
times. He is absolutely unsuspicious and 
absolutely unworldly, I am not going to see 
him ruin himself if I can help it" 

"I perceive that you are in earnest," I 
said; u but how are you to prevent a man 
who is his own master from adopting his own 
methods, even in the subtle cause of love? 
Supposing your young Professor loves Donna 
Marta, how are you to stop him ? " 

"Time will prove how," he remarked; 
"but stop him I wilL" 

The bell whirred, and the next moment 
Professor Pio/zi entered. I looked at him 
with keen interest From his photographs, 
reproduced freely in the illustrated papers, 
I had expected to see a young and good- 

by L^OOgle 

looking man, with a keen, intelligent face; 
but I was scarcely prepared for his juvenile 
appea ranee. He was tall in figure, well 
made* somewhat slender ; his hair was of a 
fair flaxen shade ; his eyes were wide open 
and of a clear blue* He had a masshe 
forehead, dark eyebrows, and a clean shaven 
face. His whole appearance was that of an 
ordinary, good-looking, everyday sort of 
young man, and 1 examined his features 
with extreme curiosity, endeavouring to 
detect anywhere a sign of genius. I could 
not do so, The Professor's whole appear- 
ance was everyday; not a douht of it. He 
was well dressed and had easy, courteous 
manners, and upon a finger of his left hand 
there gleamed a ring, a Royal gift from the 
King of his native land. 

We sat down to dinner, and the conversa- 
tion was light, pleasant, and sufficiently witty 
to cause the moments to fly. No one knew 
better than Vandeleur how to mnke a man 
feel at home in his own house, and 1 could 
see that Piozzi was enjoying himself in a 
boyish way. 

It was not until the meal was nearly over 
that the Professor caused us both to start, 
and listen with extreme attention. He 

began to talk of 
-1 Madame Sara. 
He spoke of her 
with enthusiasm. 
She was the 
cleverest woman 
in London, and, 
with one excep- 
tion, the most 
beautiful. Her 
scientific attain- 
ments were mar- 
vellous. He con- 
sidered himself 
extremely lucky 
to have made her 

" The sort of 
knowledge you 
allude to," replied 
Vandeleur, its a 
very grave tone, 
* that scientific 
knowledge which 
Madame pos- 
sesses, and which 
is not a smatter- 
ing, but a real 
thing, makes a 
woman at times 
— dangerous," 
Original from 




" I do not follow you," replied the Professor, 
knitting his brows. "Madame is the reverse 
of dangerous ; she would help a fellow at a 
pinch. She is as good as she is beautiful." 

Vandeleur made no reply, I was about 
to speak, but I saw by his manner that he 
would rather turn the conversation. 

Once more we chatted on less exciting 
topics, and it was not until the servants had 
withdrawn that Vandeleur proceeded to 
unfold the real business of the evening. 

" So you are going to astonish us all next 
week, Professor, at the Royal Institution ? Is 
it true that you, and you alone, possess the 
key of the discourse that you are to give us ? " 

" Quite true," he replied, with a smile. 
" I cannot help having the dramatic instincts 
of my race. I love an artistic effect, and I 
think I can guarantee you English chemists 
a little thrill on Saturday week. My paper 
was ready a month ago, and since finishing 
it I have been having a pleasant time. Until 
a month ago your I^ondon was more or less 
a closed book to me. Now, Madame Sara 
and her young companion, Donna Marta, 
have been taking me round. I have tn joyed 
myself, not a doubt of it." 

He leant back in his chair and smiled. 

" That woman does plan things in a most 
delightful manner," he continued, " and 
whether she entertains in her own wonder- 
ful reception-rooms at the back of her shop 
in the Strand, or whether I meet her at the 
houses of mutual friends, or at the play, or 
the opera, she is always bright, vivacious, 
charming. Donna Marta, of course, adds her 
share to the delights. Yes, it is all happi- 
ness," continued the young Professor, rubbing 
his hands together in a boyish manner. " You 
English," he added, fixing his bright blue 
eyes on Vandeleur's saturnine face, "are so 
dull, so — I might add— triste. And yet," he 
added, quickly, "you have your charm. Oh, 
undoubtedly yes. Your sincerity is so 
marvellous, so — I ought to add — refreshing. 
One can rely on it. But Madame has also 
the sincere air, and yet to her are given the 
brightness and vivacity which come from 
living under bluer skies than yours." 

The Professor's face was flushed ; he 
looked from Vandeleur to me with eagerness. 
Vandeleur drew his chair a trifle closer. 
Then, without warning, as though he could 
not help himself, he sprang to his feet. 

" Professor Piozzi," he said, " you have 
given our nation, perhaps unwittingly, a rare 
and valuable tribute You have just spoken 
of our sincerity. I trust that we are sincere, 
and I trust also that, so long as England 

by C^OOgle 

remains England, an Englishman's word will 
be his bond. The best inheritance an 
Englishman can receive from his forefathers 
is the power on all occasions to speak the 
truth. You are my guest to-night. I have 
the greatest respect for you j I admire your 
genius as I never thought to admire the 
genius of any man. It is most painful to me 
to have to say a word that may seem discour- 
teous to you, an honoured guest, but my heri- 
tage as an Englishman forces me to speak the 
truth. You know what I am— an official 
criminal agent of the police. I will be quite 
candid with you. My invitation to you to- 
night was not purely the disinterested one 
of enjoying the honour of your company, 
but also to give you a warning with regard to 
Madame Sara and the young girl who accom- 
panies her into society. They are both 
dangerous. I speak with knowledge. It is 
true that the girl herself is in all probability 
only the tool ; but the woman ! Pro- 
fessor, I have met that woman before ; so 
has my friend Druce. Our acquaintance 
with her has not been agreeable. May I 
proceed ? " 

The Professor's face had now turned 
almost crimson ; his blue eyes were starting 
from his head ; he kept clenching and un- 
clenching his right hand as though he could 
scarcely contain himself. Vandeleur's words,, 
however, seemed to force him into an attitude 
of attention. He listened as though mes- 

My friend then proceeded to give a vivid 
sketch of some of the episodes which had 
fallen to our share in the life of Madame 
Sara. He spoke slowly, with great emphasis 
and precision. He stated his case as though 
he were addressing a jury in a court of 
justice, scoring point after point with brevity 
and brilliance. When at last he ceased to 
speak the Professor was silent for half a 
minute, then he rose with a jerk to his feet. 
He was trembling, and his eyes flashed fire. 

" Mr. Vandeleur," he said, " we are ac- 
quaintances of only a year's standing ; in 
that time we have had some pleasant inter- 
views. Your business is not an attractive 
one, even when confined to its official pre- 
cincts ; but to introduce it into private affairs 
is not to be tolerated. You exceed the 
limits of propriety in dictating to me as to 
the choice of the list of my friends. Please 
understand that from that list I erase your 

He bowed stiffly, and walking across the 
room took up his hat and coat and slammed 
the door behind him. 

Original from 




I glanced at Vandeleur in amazement* 
His eyes met mine. 

"The man must have his fling/ 5 he said, 
" I did what I did for the best, and am not 
sorry. He is in love with the mysterious 
girl, who has been brought to England, 
doubtless, for the express purpose of working 
his ruin. We must find out all we can 
about her as quickly as possible, Poor 
young Professor* I should like to save him, 
and I will, too, if in the power of man. 
His powers of research must not be lost to 
the glories of the scientific world*" 

u You must admit, Vandeleur," I said, 
" that you were a trifle harsh in your deal- 
ings with him, Granted that he is in love 
with Donna Marta, can you expect him to 
take your warning tamely ? ,f 

Vandeleur was silent for a minute. 

" I do not believe my severe words will do 
any harm in the long run," he said, then. 
" The man is a foreigner ; he has not an 
Englishman's knack of keeping his temper 
under control. He will cool down presently 
and what 1 have said will return to him. 
They will come to him when he is talking 
to Donna Marta ; when Madame Sara is 
throwing her spells over him. Yes, I am not 
sorry I have spoken." 

" What do you suppose Madame is after?" 
I interrupted, "What can be her motive? 
It is not money, for the man is not well 
off; is he ? " 

" Not a thousand a year. Bah ! and he 

by Google 

might be a millionaire if he would only use 
his ideas commercially. It is the old story 
— one man finds the brains and a hundred 
otheis profit by them. He is a walking test- 
tube, and doesn't care a sou who profits by 
his inventions," 

44 Then you think she is picking his 
brains? " 

" Of course, and she will pick a plum, too, 
bang it off in England, scoop a million, and 
we have lost her." 

"Good for society if we do lose her," I 
could not help remarking. 

" By no means good for me," replied the 
detective- " I have staked my reputation on 
bringing this woman to book. She shall not 
escape. 15 

Vandeleur and I sat and talked for some 
little time longer, then I left him and 
returned to my own rooms. I sat up a long 
time busy over several matters : but when 
I retired to Test it was not only to dream of 
Madame Sara, but of the fascinating young 
Donna Marta and the boyish-looking Pro- 

I dined with Vandeleur on Wednesday 
evening, and little guessed then how soon 
events would hurry to a remarkable issue, in 
which I was to play a somewhat important 

It is my custom to lunch at the Ship and 
Turtle, an hour that I always enjoy in the midst 
of my day's work, for I meet many old friends 
there, and our meal, as a rule, is a merry one. 

Original from 




One of my most constant companions on 
these occasions is a man of the name of 
Samuel Pollak, the senior partner in the firm 
of Pollak arid Harman, patent agents, 
Bishopsgate Street Pollak is one of those 
breezy, good-natured individuals who make 
a pleasant impression wherever they go. He 
is stout of build and somewhat rubicund of 
face, an excellent man of business and a 
firm friend, t have liked him for years, and 
am always glad when he occupies the same 
table with me at lunch. 

On the FTiday following Vandeleur's 
dinner Pollak and I met as usual. I noticed 
on his entrance into the lunch-room a 
particularly merry and pleased expression on 
his face. He sat down and ordered a quart 
of the most expensive brand of champagne. 
He insisted on my joining him in a bumper 
of the frothy wine, and after drinking his 
health I could not help exclaiming :— 

"You seem pretty jolly this morning, 
Pollak. A successful flutter in Khakis ? " 

" Ha, ha, ha ! " was the answer. " Better 
than a flutter, my boy. Certainties nowa- 
days are what I am thinking of, and I have 
just bagged one, and a fat one." 

"Capital. Tell me all about it," I 
answered. " What is the yarn, Pollak ? " 

He gave me a somewhat vague smile, which 
seemed to me to mingle a sort of contempt 
with amusement, and said, impressively : — 

"A roaring commission, the biggest that 
has been in the market for the last ten years. 
Patent rights for every country on earth, and 
a hundred shares allotted gratis when the 
thing is floated. I tell you, Druce," he 
added, laising his voice, " if it comes off I 
retire with as near fifteen thousand a year as 
I want" 

" You were born under a lucky star, there's 
no doubt of that," I answered, somewhat 
sharply, for Pollak's manner had never im- 
pressed roe less favourably than it did this 
morning. He was evidently almost beside 
himself with excitement 

"I congratulate you, of course," I said, 
after a moment. "Ask me to the house- 
warming of your castle in Scotland, whenever 
that event comes off. But can't you give me 
a hint with regard to this magnificent affair ? 
I am, as you know, a struggling pauper, and 
should like to have my share of the pickings 
if there are any at your disposal to give 

" My lips are sealed," he answered at once. 
11 1 am sorry, for there is no one I should 
like better to help. But I think I am justi- 
fied in telling you this— the City will hum 

igiiized by t^OOglC 

when the news is -out. It is immense, it is 
colossal, it is paralyzing." 

44 You excite my curiosity to a remarkable 
extent," I could not help saying. " Curiosity 
has a great deal to do with my trade, as you 

He finished his glass of champagne and 
set it down. His eyes, as he fixed them on 
me, were full of laughter. I almost won- 
dered whether he was amusing himself at 
my expense ; but no, his next words were 
sane enough. 

"There is another little matter I can 
inform you about, Druce, without breaking 
any confidence. I happen to know that 
the fortunate patentee is a friend of yours." 

" A friend of mine ? " I exclaimed. " An 
acquaintance, perhaps. I haven't three 
friends in the world." 

"A great friend— an admirer, too," he 
went on. 

" An admirer ! " I repeated, staring across 
at him. " A devoted admirer ! Who is he ? 
Come, out with it, Pollak ; don't keep me on 

" Think over your list of admirers," he 
cried, tantalizingly. 

44 1 will hazard a guess, then ; but he isn't 
an admirer. Vandeleur," I said. 

44 Ha, ha ! " he roared. 4< Better and 
better. She admires him, too, I believe." 


A strange thought seized me. I felt the 
high spirits which Pollak had infected me 
with depart as in a flash. I knew that in 
spite of every effort my face had altered 
in expression. Pollak gazed at me and said, 
in a tone of triumph : — 

44 1 see that you guess. The cat is out of 
the bag." 

He chuckled. 

44 Isn't it superb? " he added. 

44 Madame Sara ! " I ejaculated, when I 
could find words. 

He burst into a fresh roar of delight. 

44 There's no harm in your knowing that 
much," he said. 44 But what's up? You 
look queer." 

The change in my demeanour must have 
astonished him. I sat almost motionless, 
staring into his face. 

44 Nothing," I answered, speaking as quietly 
as I could. * 4 The admiration you have 
remarked upon is reciprocal. I am glad that 
she has done so well." 

44 She is particularly pleased," continued 
Pollak, 44 on account of her young protegee, 
the lovely Donna Marta. The young lady 
in question is to make a very good match — 


7 2 


^H '•■•-: 

"akI there are few wqwepj so kmjj, SO qreat, as Madame sara/' 

in a certain sense a brilliant one ; and 
Madame wants to give her a wedding por- 
tion. Ah [ there are few women so kind, so 
great, as Madame Sara. She has the wisdom 
of the ancients and some of their secrets, 

I made no reply. The usual thing had 
happened so far as my good-natured friend 
was concerned. He was dazzled by the 
beauty of his client, and had given himself 
away, a ready victim to her fascinations. 

"I see," he added, "that you also are 
under her spells. Who wouldn't yield to 
the power of those eyes? The young lady, 
Donna Marta, is all very well, but give me 
Madame herself/' 

With these words he left me* Never was 
there a more prosperous or happier-looking 
man. Little did he guess the thoughts that 
were surging through my brain. 

Without returning to my place of business 
I took a hansom and drove to Vandeleur's 
office. My heart was full of a nameless fear. 
Pollak had let out a great deal more than 
he had any intention of doing. So Donna 
Marta was engaged. Engaged to whom? 
Surely not to the poor, infatuated young 
Professor? Pollak had said that in some 
respects the proposed matrh was a brilliant 
one. That might be a fitting description of 
a marriage with the young Professor, whose 
fame was attracting the attention of the 

Digitized by G< 

greatest scientists 
in Europe, He 
was poor, certainly 
— but then he held 
a secret. That 
secret might mean 
anything — it might 
even revolutionize 
the world. Did 
Madame mean by 
this subtle trap to 
lure it from him ? 
It was more than 
probable. It would 
explain Pollak's 
excitement and his 
attitude. In !act ? 
the scheme was 
w orthy of her 
colossal brain. 

As I entered 
Vandeleur's room 
I was surprised to 
see him pacing up 
and down with his 
coat off, his brows 
knitted in anxious 
thought, He was evidently in the thick of a 
problem, and one of no ordinary magnitude. 
On the tabic lay a number of beakers, retorts, 
and test-tubes. 

** Sit down/' he said, roughly. " Glad 
you've come* See this ? n 

He held up a glass tube containing what 
appeared to be milk. 

*' Listen," he said* "You will see that 
my fears were justified with regard to Piozzi. 
Poor fellow, he is in the toils, if ever a man 
was. A hurried messenger came from his 
place to fetch me this morning* I guessed 
by his face that something serious had hap- 
pened, and I went to Duke Street at once, 
I found the Professor in his bedroom, half 
dressed on his bed, cold, gasping, livid. He 
had breakfasted half an hour before. He 
murmured apologies for his treatment of me, 
but I cut him short and went strnight to the 
case. I made a full investigation, and came 
to the conclusion that it is a case of poison- 
ing, the agent used being in all probability 
cocaine, or some allied alkaloid. By the 
aid of nitrate of a my I capsules I pulled 
him round, but was literally only just in 
time- When I entered the room it was 
touch and go with the poor fellow. I believe 
if he had not had immediate assistance he 
would have been dead in a few minutes. I 
saved his life. Now, Druce, we have to face 
a fact. There has been a deliberate attempt 
Original from 




at murder on the part of someone. I have 
baffled the murderer in the moment of 

44 Who would attempt his life ? " I cried. 

** Need you ask ? ;> he answered, gravely. 

Our eyes met, We were both silent 

14 When I was with him this morning he 
was too bad for me to get any particulars 
whatever from him, so I know nothing of the 
motive or details ; but I have discovered by 
mtans of a careful analysis that there has 
been introduced into the milk with which he 
was supphed some poisonous alkaloid of the 
ervthroKylon group,- Feeling pretty certain 
that the poison was conveyed through the 
food, I took away a portion of his breakfast 
— in particular I took some of the milk 
which stood in a jug on his breakfast-table. 
And here 1 have the result. I am going 
hack there at once, and you had better come 

Vandeleur had poured out his words in 
such a torrent of excitement that, he had not 
noticed how unusual it was for me to visit 
him at this early hour in the afternoon. 
Now, however, it seemed to strike him, and 
he said, abruptly: — 

44 You look strange yourself. Surely you 
haven't came here on purpose? You can't 
possibly have heard of this thing yet? " 

H No," I answered. " I have heard 
nothing. I have come on my own account, 
and on a pretty big matter too, and, what is 
more, it relates to our young Professor, 
unless I am much mistaken. Twill tell you 
what I have to tell in the cab, Vandeleur ; it 
will save time," 

A hansom was summoned, and we were 
soon on our way to Duke Street As we 
drove I told Vandeleur in a few words what 
had occurred between Pollak and myself. 
He listened 
with the in- 
which always 
him. He 
made not a 
single re- 

As we were 
entering the 
house, how- 
ever, he 
turned to me 
and said, with 
brevity : — 

u It is clear 
that she has 

Vol. ***.-». 

tapped him. We must get from him what she 
knows. This may be a matter of millions. ,J 

On arriving at Piozzi's flat in Duke Street 
we were at once shown into his bedroom by 
his man-servant. Stretched upon the outside 
of the bed was the young Professor, wrapped in 
a loose dressing-gown. His face was ghastly 
pale, and there was a blue tinge observable 
round his mouth and under his eyes. He 
raised himself languidly as wo entered, 

" Better, I see. Capital ! ?? said Vandeleur, 
in a cheerful tone. 

A very slight colour came into the young 
man's face. He glanced at me almost in 

"You know my friend Druce," said 
Vandeleur, *' He is with me in this case, and 
has just brought me important information 
Lie down again, Professor/' 

As he spoke he sat on the edge of the bed 
and laid his hand on the young man's arm. 

"I am sorry to have to tell you, Mr. Piozzi, 
that this is a very serious case. A rapid 
qualitative analysis of what you took for 
breakfast has shown me that the milk which 
was supplied for your use has been poisoned, 
What the poison is I cannot say. It is very 
like cocaine m its reactions/ 1 

The sick man shuddered, and an expression 
of horror and amazement crossed his face, 

"Who would want to take my life?" he 
said. "Poisoned milk! I confess I do not 
understand. The thing must have been 
accidental," he continued, feverishly, fixing 
his puzzled eyes 
on Vandeleur. m 

shook his head. ^^ 






" There was no accident in this matter," he . 
said, with emphasis. "It was design. Deadly, 
too. You would not have been alive now if 
I had not come to you in the nick of time. 
It is our duty, Professor, to go carefully into 
every circumstance in order to insure you 
against a further attempt on your life." 

" But I do no one harm," he answered, 
irritably. " Who could wish to take my life 
from me ? It is impossible. You are 
labouring under a wrong impression." 

"We will let the motive rest for the 
present," replied Vandeleur. "That the 
attempt was made is certain. Our present 
object is to discover how the poison got into 
the milk. That is the question that must 
be answered, and before Druce and I leave 
this room. Who supplies you with milk, 
Professor Piozzi ? " 

Piozzi replied by a languid motion towards 
the bell, 

" My man will tell you," he said. " I know 
nothing about the matter." 

The servant was summoned, and his infor- 
mation was brief and to the point The 
Professor's milk was served by the same 
milkman who supplied all the other members 
of the mansion. 

" It is brought early in the morning, sir," 
said the man, " and left outside the door of 
each flat. The housekeeper opens the house 
door for the purpose. I take it in myself 
the first thing on rising." 

" And the can remains outside your door 
with the house door open until you take it 
in ? " said Vandeleur. 

" Yes, sir, of course." 

"Thank you," said Vandeleur. "That 
will do." 

The man left the room. 

" You see, Professor," remarked my friend, 
after the door had closed upon the servant, 
"how simple the matter is. Anyone could 
drop poison into the milk — that is, of course, 
what somebody did. These modern arrange- 
ments don't take crime into account when 
the criminal means business." 

The Professor lay still, evidently thinking 
deeply. I noticed then, for the first time, 
that a look of age had crept over his face. 
It improved him, giving stability and power 
to features too juvenile for the mass of know 
ledge which that keen brain contained. His 
eyes were full of trouble ; it was evident 
that his meditations were the reverse of 

" I am the last man to pretend not to see 
when a self-evident fact stares me in the face," 
he said, at last " There has been an attempt 

Digitized by G* 

made to poison me. But by whom ? Can 
you tell me that, Mr. Vandeleur ? " 

" I could give a very shrewd guess," replied 
Vandeleur ; " but were I to name my sus- 
picions you would be offended." 

" Forgive me for my exhibition of rage the 
other night," he answered, quite humbly. 
" Speak your mind— I shall respect you what- 
ever you say." 

" In my mind's eye," said Vandeleur, slowly, 
" I see a woman who has before attempted 
the life of those whom she was pleased to call 
her friends." 

The Professor started to his feet Not- 
withstanding his vehement assertion that he 
would not give way to his emotions, he was 
trembling all over. 

" You cannot mean Madame Sara — you 
will change your mind — I have something to 
confide. Between now and last Wednesday 
I have been affianced to Donna Marta. Yes, 
we are to marry, and soon. Madame is 
beside herself with bliss, and Donna Marta 

herself Ah, I have no words to speak 

what my feelings are with regard to her. 
Madame of all people would be the last to 
murder me," he added, wildly, "for she loves 
Donna Marta." 

" I am deeply sorry, Professor, notwith- 
standing your words and the very important 
statement you have just made with regard to 
the young lady who lives with Madame Sara, 
to have to adhere to my opinion that there 
is a very deep-laid plot on foot, and that it 
menaces your life. I still believe that 
Madame, notwithstanding your word, is head 
and centre of that plot. Take my statement 
for what it is worth. It is, I can assure you, 
the only thing that I can say. And now I 
must ask you a few questions, and you must 
haVe patience with me, great patience, while 
you reply to them. I beg of you to tell me 
the truth absolutely and frankly." 

" I will," answered the young man. " You 
move me strangely. I cannot help believing 
in you, although I hate myself for allowing 
even one suspicious thought to fall on her." 

Vandeleur rose. 

"Tell me, Mr. Piozzi," he said, quietly, 
" have you ever communicated to Madame 
Sara the nature of your chemical discoveries?" 

" Never." 

" Has she ever been here ? " 

" Oh, yes, many times. Last week she 
and Donna Marta were both here. I had 
a little reception for them. We enjoyed 
ourselves ; she was delightful." 

" You have several rooms in this flat, 
have you not, Professor ? " 




" Three reception- rooms, " he answered, 
rather wearily. 

" And you and Donna Marta were perhaps 
alone in one of those rooms while Madame 
Sara amused herself in another? Is that 

fi It is," he answered, reddening* u Madame 
and Donna Marta remained after my other 
guests had gone. Madame went into my 
study. She said she would sit by the fire 
and rest." 

"Do you leave your notes locked up or 
lying about ? " 

"Always locked up. It is true the notes 
for my coming lecture were on that occasion 
on my desk," 

"Ah !" interrupted Vandeleur 

" No ordinary person could make anything 
of them, 1 ' he 
"and even," he 
added, " i f 
Madame could 
have read them, 
it surely would 
not greatly 
matter that she 
should know my 
grand secret 
before the resit 
of the world." 

" Piozzi/'said 
Vandeleur, very 
gravely, i( I must 
make another 
request of you. 
Whether Ma- 
dame knows 
your secret or 
not I must know 
it, and at once. 
Don't hesitate, 
Professor ; your 
life hangs in the 
balance. You 
must tell me 
that with which 
you mean to 
electrify the 
Royal Institu- 
tion to-morrow 
week, now, now 
at once." 

The Professor looked astonished, 
Vandeleur was firm, 

"I must know it," he said. "I hold 
myself responsible for your life, Druce," he 
added, turning to me, u perhaps you can get 
the Professor to see the necessity of what I 

Digitized by Gt 



usk. Will you tell him that story which you 
related to me in the cab? r) 

I did so without a mom em's delay. My 
words were as brief as I could make them. 
I told him about my interview with Pollak, 
his excitement, his revelation of the fact 
that the patentee whose patent was to be 
secured in all countries all over the world 
was no less a person than Madame Sara 
herself. In short, to my infinite delight I 
managed to convey my suspicions to his 
mind. His whole attitude altered ; he 
became excited, almost beside himself. His 
nervousness gave place to unexpected 
strength. He started to his feet and began 
to pace the room, 

44 Heavens ! " he exclaimed more than 
once. " If indeed I have been befooled - 

made a dupe of 
— but no, it can- 
not be. Still, if 
it is, I will re- 
venge myself on 
Madame to the 
last drop of my 

u For the pre- 
sent you must 
only confide in 
me/* said Van- 
deleur, laying a 
restraining hand 
on the young 
m an's arm. 
11 And now for 
your secret --it 
is safe with 
Druce and my 
self ; we must 
know it." 

Piozzi calmed 
down as sud- 
denly as he had 
given way to 
rage, He seated 
himself on a 
sofa and began 
in a quiet voice : 
" What I have 
to suv i- Minply 

Then in terse 
language he 
poured out for Yandeleur's benefit an account 
of some process, interlarded with formulae, 
equations, and symbols, absolutely beyond 
my comprehension. 

Yandeleur sat and listened intently. Now 
and then he .put a question, which was imme- 
Original from 


HE LAST IiShi ■ I' OF .MY IM.Ut'lK 



diately answered. At last Piozzi had come 
to the end of his narrative. 

" That is it," he said ; "the whole thing in 
a nutshell." 

" Upon my word," said Vandeleur, " it is 
very ingenious and plausible, and may turn 
out of immense benefit to the world ; but at 
the present juncture I cannot see money in 
it, and money is what Madame wants and 
means to have. To be frank with you, 
Professor, I see no earthly reason in her 
wanting to patent what you have just told me. 
But is there nothing else ? Are you certain ? " 

"Absolutely nothing," was his response. 

" Well," said Vandeleur, " I am puzzled. I 
own it. I must think matters over." 

He was interrupted by a loud exclamation 
from the young man. 

" You are wrong after all, Mr. Vandeleur," 
he cried. " Madame means to patent some- 
thing else. Why should she not have a 
great idea in her head quite apart from me 
and mine? Ah, this relieves me — it makes 
me happy. True, someone has tried to 
murder me, but it is not Madame— it is not 
the lady whom Donna Marta loves." 

His eyes blazed with delight He laughed 
in feverish excitement. 

After soothing him as best we could, and 
trying to get a half-promise that he would 
not see either Madame or the young lady 
until we met again, we left him. 

As we were walking from the house 
Vandeleur turned to me and said : — 

" I have been invited to a reception 
to-night at the house of our mutual , friends 
the Lauderdales. I understand that both 
Madame and the young lady are to be 
present. Would you like to come with me ? 
I am allowed to bring a friend." 

I eagerly assented. We arranged when 
and where to meet, and were about to part 
when he suddenly exclaimed : — 

"This is a difficult problem. I shall have 
no rest until I have solved it. Piozzi's dis- 
covery is ingenious and clever, but at present 
it is unworkable. I do not see daylight, but 
no loophole is to be despised that may give 
me what I want. Between now and our 
meeting this evening I will try to have an 
interview with Pollak. Give me his address." 

I did so, and we parted. 

We met again at a late hour that evening 
at the Lauderdales' beautiful house in Port- 
land Place. Wit and beauty were to be 
found in the gay throng, also wisdom, and a 
fair sprinkling of some of the most brilliant 
brains in London. Men of note came face 
to face with one in every direction ; but both 

Vandeleur and I were seeking one face, and 
one alone. 

We found her at last, surrounded by a 
throng of admirers. Madame was looking 
her most brilliant and, I might add, her 
youngest self. She was dressed in dazzling 
white and silver, and whenever she moved 
light seemed to be reflected at every point. 
The brilliance of her golden hair was the 
only distinct colour about her. By her side 
stood Donna Marta, a tall, pale girl, almost 
too slender for absolute beauty. Her grace, 
however, was undeniable, and, although I 
have seen more lovely faces, this one had a 
singular power of attraction. When I looked 
at her once I wanted to look again, and when 
she slowly raised her luminous eyes and fixed 
them on my face I owned to a thrill of 
distinct gratification. I began to understand 
the possibility of Piozzi's giving himself up 
absolutely to her charms. 

Her presence here to-night, in conjunc- 
tion with Madame Sara, produced an effect 
which was as astonishing as it was rare. 
Each acted as a perfect foil to the other, 
each seemed to bring out the rare fascination 
of her companion. 

Donna Marta glanced at me again ; then 
I saw her bend towards Madame Sara and 
whisper something in her ear. A moment 
later, to my amazement, the great lady and 
the slender girl were by my side. 

" Mr. Druce, this is an unexpected plea- 
sure. May I introduce you to my young 
cousin, Donna Marta? Is your friend, Mr. 
Vandeleur, also here to-night ? " 

" He is ; I will find him," I replied. 

I darted away, returning in a moment with 
Vandeleur. He and Madame moved a few 
paces away and began to chat in pleasant 
tones, just as though they were the best 
friends in the world. 

Meanwhile Donna Marta lingered near 
me. I began to talk on indifferent subjects, 
but she interrupted me abruptly. 

u You are a friend of Professor Piozzi's ? " 
she said, in a tentative voice. "Is he not 
present to-night?" 

" No," I replied. It occurred to me that I 
would test her. " The Professor cannot be 
present, and I am sorry to have to give a 
grave reason for his absence, for doubtless 
Lady Lauderdale expected him to grace her 

" She did ; he was to be one of the lions," 
she replied, bending her stately head, with its 
mass of blue-black hair. 

" He is ill," I continued, raising my own 
eyes now and fixing them on her face. 


L| I I I Kl I I I -• I I I 




She gazed at me without alarm and with- 
out confusion. Not the most remote emotion 
did she show, and yet she was engaged to 
the man, 

" He was at death's door,' 1 I went on, 
almost savagely, il but he is better For the 
present he is safe. 15 

'* I am sorry to hear of his illness," she 
answered then, softly. (l I will — acquaint 
Madame. She also will be grieved." 

The girl turn- 
ed and glided 
away from me, 
I watched her as 
she went. The 
brief moment 
when she fasci- 
nated me had 
come to an end 
with that callous 
glance. But who 
was she? What 
did it all mean? 

In the course 
of the evening 
Donna Marta 
again came up 
to my side. 

" Mr. Druce," 
she said, 
abruptly, "you 
are Professor 
Piozzi's friend?" 

" Certainly," I 

"Will you 
warn him from 
yourself — not 
from nie — not 
on any account 
from me- — to 
keep in the open 
on Saturday 
week? You must 
make the best 
of my words, for 
I cannot explain 
them. Tell the Professor, whatever he does, 
to keep in the open" 

" Donna Marta ! * called Madame Sara's 

The ^irl sprang away, Her face was like 
death ; but as Madame Sara's eyes met hers 
I noticed a wave of crimson dye her face 
and neck. 

On my way home 1 told Vandeleur of 
the strange words used by Donna Marta, 
He shrugged his shoulders. 

li It is my firm opinion/' he said, u that the 


unfortunate girl moves and speaks in a state 
of trance. Madame has mesmerized her, I 
have not a doubt of it 

right," I said, eagerly, 

trance may have been 

said those words to me. 

possible solution. But 

by asking the Professor 

"You may be 
" And the state of 
removed when she 
That would make a 
what can she mean 
to keep in the open ? M 

" The girl evidently 


warns us against 
Madame Sara/' 
he said, briefly, 
"and circum- 
stances, all cir- 
seem to point to 
the same deadly 
danger. Where 
Madame goes 
Death walks 
abroad. What 
is to be done ? 
But there, 
Druce," h e 
added, with petu- 
lance, " the Pro- 
fessor's life is 
not my affair, I 
must sleep, or I 
shall lose my 
senses. Good- 
nitfht, good- 

The next few 
days passed 
without any spe- 
cial occurrence 
of interest, I 
neither saw nor 
heard anything 
of Madame and 
her strange 
young guest, 
neither did I 
hear of the Pro- 
fessor nor did I 
see Vandeleur* 
I called on him once, but he was out, and the 
servant informed me that his master was 
particularly busy, and in consequence was 
hardly ever at home. 

At last the day dawned which was to see 
Professor Piozzi in the moment of his glory. 
I had a line from Vandeleur by the first post, 
telling me that he had secured tickets for 
himself and for me for the lecture at the 
Royal Institution that night. Soon afterwards 
I found myself at Vandeleur's house. His 

servant opened the door, and with a look of 
Original from 




relief asked me to go up to the sitting-room 
without delay. I was expected, then* or at 
least I was wished for. 

The first person I saw when I entered 
the room was my old friend Samuel Pollak, 
and gazing round in some amazement I also 
perceived the young Professor, buried in the 
depths of an arm-chair, his face ghastly and 
his arm in a sling. 

"Ah t Druce," said Vandeleur, M you are 
heartily welcome. You have come in the 
nick of time. I was just about to clear 
up this extraordinary affair in the presence 
of Mr Pollak and the Professor. Your 
advent on the scene makes my audience 
complete. Now, gentlemen, pray listen. The 
patent, Mr. Pollak, which you are negotiating 
for Madame Sara is, as you imagine, a secret. 
1 don't ask you to tell me what it is, for I 
propose to tell you. But, first, are your opera- 
tions for securing patent rights complete ? " 

from Pollak* telling us that Vandeleur 's guess 
was correct. 

"The other day when you spoke to me, 
Professor," continued Vandeleur, fixing his 
eyes on the face of the younger man, ^in- 
teresting as 1 thought your discovery, I could 
not apply it to commercial purposes, nor see 
why it was so necessary to secure patent 
rights for its protection, I felt certain, how- 
ever, that there was such a solution, and it 
came to me in the small hours this morning. 
You did not grasp the deduction from your 
most interesting discovery. I take it to my 
credit that I have done so, and beyond doubt 
Madame, whether she be your friend or your 
hu\ penviwd the hu^e financial benefit 
which would accrue to those who could hold 
patent rights. It goes without saying that 
she read your notes, and at a glance saw 
what you have not grasped at all, and what I 

" I regret to say they are not, sir,™ replied 

"I thought as much, and may add that I 
hoped as much. Now, listen- The key to 
the specification of the patents is nothing 
more or less than the astounding discovery 
of the chemical synthesis of albuminoids. In 
other words, a means of manufacturing arti- 
ficial foods in a manner which has long been 
sought by scientific men* but which has so 
far eluded their researches/' 

An exclamation of astonishment broke 

by Google 



have taken days to discover. The attempt on 
your life is now explained, as is also the queer 
cab accident in Regent Street which you have 
just met with* Madame's object is either to 
murder you or to incapacitate you from giving 
your lecture to-night. She knows, of course, 
that when once you publicly proclaim your 
discovery a clever brain on the watch may 
deduce the financial value of it Thus she 
sees the possibility of being forestalled or 
ri\alled t for Mr. Pnllak has just stated that the 
patent rights arc not yet secured Madame has 
Original from 



therefore determined that your lecture shall 
not take place, nor your idea be given to the 
world, until she has secured herself by patent 
rights beyond dispute. I shall take care to 
guard you, Professor, until you appear before 
the Royal Society at eight o'clock to-night. 
And I conclude, Mr. Pollak, that you, know- 
ing at last the true facts of the case, will at 
once cancel all negotiations with Madame 
Sara. I presume, sir," he added, bowing to 
Piozzi, " that you will like him to negotiate the 
business in your name? A cursory inspection 
of it must mean an enormous fortune for you, 
for beyond doubt the chemical synthesis of 
aliments would prove the solution of many 
of the difficulties that now present them- 
selves to the human race." 

The Professor sat quite silent for a minute 
or two, then he rose and said, slowly : — 

" I follow you, Mr. Vandeleur, and I see 
that your deduction is the right one as regards 
the financial importance of my discovery. 
How I did not see it sooner myself puzzles 
me. As to Madame Sara, I would rather 
not mention her name at present." 

Vandeleur made no reply to this, and a 
moment later Pollak took his leave. I rose 
also to go. 

"Come back and dine with us, Druce," 
said Vandeleur. u If Professor Piozzi declines 
to talk of Madame Sara, neither will I 
mention her name. We shall soon know the 
best or the worst." 

The rest of the day passed without adven- 
ture. The dinner at Vandeleur's turned out 
somewhat dull. We were none of us in 
good spirits, and, without owning it, we were 
all anxious. As to the Professor, he scarcely 
spoke a word and hardly touched his food. 

About ten minutes to eight o'clock we 
found ourselves at the Royal Institution. 
Several leading scientists were there to 
welcome the distinguished lecturer. I 
peeped from behind into the hall. It was 
packed from front to back. The platform 
was tastefully decorated with palms ; one of 
peculiar grace and size drooped its finger like 
fronds over the table at which Piozzi was to 
stand. As I saw it I heard as distinctly as 
though the words were again being spoken : — 

"Tell him whatever he does to keep in 
the open. Tell him — from yourself." 

I had not done so. A momentary impulse 
seized me. I would go to Piozzi and ask 
him to have his table and chair moved to the 
centre of the platform. Then I reflected 
that such a proceeding would cause amaze- 
ment, and that the Professor would probably 
refuse to comply. Again I looked into the 

Digitized by CiOOgle 

hall, and now I gave a very visible start ; for 
in the front row, in brilliant evening dress, 
sat Madame Sara and her young cousin. 
Donna Marta's face, usually so pale, was now 
relieved by a crimson glow on each cheek. 
This unusual colour brought out her beauty 
to a dazzling degree. I noticed further that 
her eyes had a filmy expression in them. I 
remembered Vandeleur's words. Beyond 
doubt Madame had mesmerized her victim. 
As to what it all meant, I will own that my 
brain was in a whirl. 

A few minutes passed, and then, amid a 
thunder of applause, Piozzi, pale as ivory, 
stepped on to the platform and walked 
straight to the table over which hung the 
graceful palm. 

After a few words in which the young 
Professor was introduced by the President of 
the evening, the lecture about which so 
much curiosity had been felt began. Van- 
deleur and I stood side by side near one 
of the entrance doors. From where we 
stood we could see Piozzi well. Vandeleur's 
face was rigid as steel. 

A quarter of an hour passed, and sentence 
by sentence, word by word, the young man 
led up to his crucial point — his great 

44 Look ! " whispered Vandeleur, grasping 
my wrist. " What in the world is the matter 
with him?" 

The Professor was still speaking, but his 
words came in thick and indistinct sentences. 
Suddenly he took hold of the table with both 
hands and began to sway to and fro. The 
next moment he ceased speaking, reeled, 
made a lunge forward, and, with a loud crash, 
fell senseless upon the floor. The scene of 
consternation was indescribable. Vandeleur 
and I both sprang forward. The unconscious 
man was taken into one of the ante-rooms, 
and by the immediate application of restora- 
tives and a great draught of fresh air, caused 
by the open windows, he came gradually to 
himself. But that he was still very ill was 
evident ; his brain was confused ; he could 
scarcely speak except in gasps. A doctor 
who was present offered to see him to his 
house. We carried him to the first cab we 
could find. I whispered in his ear that I 
would call upon him later in the evening, 
and then I returned to the hall. 

Vandeleur was waiting for me. I felt his 
grip on my arm. 

"Come right up on to the platform," he 

The excitement in his voice was only 
exceeded by the look, on_ his face. Most 





of the crowd had dispersed, knowing well 
that there would be no further lecture that 
night, but a few people still lingered on 
the scene* I looked in vain for Madame 
Sara and Donna Marta ; they were neither 
of them visible. 

" You see this," said Vandeleur, pointing 
to the great palm that towered over the table 
at which Piozzi had stood- il And you see 
this," he repeated, seizing one of the branches 
and shaking it. 

The long, tapering, green leaves rattled 
together with an odd metallic sound 

" Look here ! " said Vandeleur, and he 
pointed to the fine tips of one of the leaves. 
14 This plant never grew. It is made it is 
an artificial imitation of the most surprising 
skill and workmanship. The pot in which it 
stands has certainly earth at the top"— lie 
swept away a handful— "but there below is 
a receptacle which is generating carbon 
monoxide gas." 

He bent and broke one of the branches, 

" Hollow, you see. Those are the tubes to 
convey the gas to the leaves, at the extremity 
of each of which is an orifice. Professor 
Piozzi was standing beneath a veritable 
shower-bath of that gas, which is odourless 
and colourless, and brings insensibility and 
death. It overwhelmed him, as you saw, 
and it was impossible for him to finish 
his lecture. Only one human being could 

Digitized by G* 

have planned and executed such a contri- 
vance. If we can trace it to her, she spends 
the night in Bow Street/ 1 

Our movements were rapid. The plant 
was taken to Vandeleur's house. The florist 
who had supplied the decorations was inter- 
viewed* He expressed himself astounded* 
He denied all complicity — the palm was 
certainly none of his ; he could not tell how 
it had got into the hall. He had come him- 
self to see if the decorations were carried 
out according to his directions, and had 
noticed the palm and remarked on its grace. 
Someone had said that a lady "had brought 
it, but he really knew nothing definite 
about it. 

Notwithstanding all our inquiries, neither 
did we ever find out how that palm got 
mixed up with the others. 

We learnt afterwards that Donna Marta 
left London for the Continent that very night. 
What her subsequent movements were we 
could never ascertain. Doubtless, having 
acted her part in the brief role assigned to 
her, Madame would drop her from her life 
as she did most of her other victims. 

There was, however, one satisfaction — the 
plot, on which so much hung, had failed, 
Madame was not successful. Professor 
Piozzi, his eyes opened at last with regard to 
this woman, took out his patent without an 
hour's unnecessary delay. 
Original frann 






From a\ 



By Hakold Spknder. 

N the evening of Wednesday, 
August 30th, 1899, we were 
walking up the long valley 
which leads from Sion to 
Rvolena, south of the famous 
Rhone Valley, 111 the Canton 
Vila is of Switzerland. 

The carriage had surmounted th? last zig- 
zag, and there lay before us a straight road 
to Evolena. It was past eight o'clock, and 
we should scarcely arrive before nightfall. 
The carriage had halted to take us up, since 
swifter progress was now possible, when a 
descending einsp&nncr came rapidly towards 
us. There sat in it three men, who shouted 
as they passed : — 

11 Four men killed on the Dent Blanche I " 

It was nine o'clock before we reached our 
hotel. We naturally inquired the circum- 
stances of the accident from the guests 
sitting under the veranda, among whom was 
a friend whom I had known both in politics 
and athletics for some years, Mr. \Y\ M. 
Crook. All they knew was that someone 
had received from Dr. Seller, at Zermatt, a 
short time before, a telegram stating that a 
tourist and three guides bad fallen from the 
l>ent Blanche, and that a caravan of guides 
was starting from Zermatt to look for the 

Vol. xxv r -n 

hodies. He had added the grim request 
that four coffins should be prepared, and he 
had announced his intention cf coming him- 
self to Evolena. This was all. No names 
were mentioned, no particulars were given. 

On receiving Dr. Seller's telegram, Mr. 
Crook and his friends had been very much 
puzzled. U A tourist and three guides!'" 
"Four bodies!" "Four coffins!" They 
knew of only one party on the Dent Blanche, 
but that consisted of five persons, who had 
intended to rope in two parties of three and 
two. This party consisted of three guides 
and two Englishmen, both schoolmasters in 
the City of London School, who had been 
climbing together for the last fortnight at 
A roll a* One was Mr. F. W. Hill, a mathe- 
matical master ; the other was the science 
master, Mr, Owen Clynne Jones- If an 
accident had occurred, it would surely have 
been either five or three who had fallen 
— not four, So they dismissed the thought. 
But the fear recurred. The bodies had fallen, 
it was clear, on the Evolena side. And no 
other party bad left the Evolena valley for 
the Dent Blanche that week. Perhaps the 
fifth body had not been seen. So at last, 
just to lull their fenrs, Mr. Crook sent off" a 
telegram to Dr. Seiler : " Have Messrs. Jones 
and Hill arfuhfld B1& I from 




Little time was left us for reflection. As 
we were sitting in the veranda a villager came 
up with a telegram. Mr. Crook tore it open, 
and read aloud the following message from 
Dr. Sdlen— 

Mr + Mill arrived safely this morning, but Jones and 
three guides fell an hour and a half from I he top on 
Monday morning. 

Then it was true. The fall of four had 
happened in the party of five. By some 
miracle Mr, Hill had lived for more than two 
days on the mountain, and at. last "arrived 
safely T at ZermatL 

But all this was 
for the moment 
swallowed up in 
our sense of the 
death of Owen 
Glynne Jones. 

Cllynne Jones 
was short, thick- 
set, near ■ sighted. 
On a casual meet- 
ing you would 
never have taken 
him for an athlete, 
but merely for 
what he also was — 
an earnest school- 
master, a keen 
scientist, and a 
man of active 
intelligence. But 
mention moun- 
tains, and the man 
was transfigured. 
He would talk of 
the mountains with 
the passion of a 
worshipper; he 
would discuss for 
hours the smallest 
details of rock 
climbing, and illus- 
trate the subject on the nearest available 
object. I have seen him do a *' chimney" 
climb between two trees, his kirk against 
one and his feet against the other ; I have 
seen him do a "face" climb straight up the 
roughly-built wall of a Welsh barn, with no 
other support than the interstices between 
the stones ; and one of his favourite occupa- 
tions at his school was a u traverse" along 
the cornice of the big schoolroom, suspended 
by his finger-tips, For he had developed 
the most extraordinary strength in the most 
unusual muscles ; the grip of his hands was 
like the grip of a climbing animal This 


>Vowi a PAota. by G. P. Abraham, Kemeiek. 

power, combined with a rare and cool daring, 
had set him, young as he was, at die head of 
English rock-climbers. 

He subordinated everything else in life to 
the passion for the mountains, and the pas- 
sion for climbing. His eagerness to climb a 
certain mountain in Wales had made him 
spend a week-end in achieving the victory. 
His passion for the Alps led him there in 
later years, both in summer and winter, and 
during the last year of his life his ambition 
stretched to the far-off Himalayas^ which he 

had made every 
preparation to visit. 
These passions 
had developed 
late, and Glynne 
Jones's marvellous 
performances were 
crowded into the 
last six years of a 
life which closed 
at the early age of 
thirty - two. He 
had entered upon 
his Alpine career 
by climbing the 
Dent Blanche in 
April — a season of 
the year when the 
high Alps had 
been hitherto 
considered impreg- 
nable. In the 
succeeding year he 
had climbed in 
every part of the 
Alps — the Oher- 
land, the Pen nines, 
the Eastern Alps 
of the Tyrol, The 
English Alps of 
Cumberland and 
Westmorland he 
had al so con - 
rjuered. Nothing seemed too difficult for his 
hand and eye ; nothing too perilous for his 
daring and endurance. On that spring ascent 
of the Dent Blanche he had been thirty-six 
hours on the mountain. He had spent nearly 
forty hours in attacking a peak in the Dolo- 
mites. The older men shook their heads, 
but the younger climbers regarded him as 
their leader and hero. Indeed, it is not too 
much to say that he had founded a new 
school of climbing. 

I have been often asked whether Jones 
had some^ecret of- the trade whereby he 

adiu t*tei^?.'.i».ff ** K5k rf 



perpendicular, as distinct from horizontal, 
movement. Well, man has four climbing 
weapons — two legs and two arms. Those 
are subdivided into ten toes and ten fingers. 
The first ten scarcely count, though it is 
as well to give them as much freedom as 
possible. The Pyreneans, for instance, 
always take off" their boots at critical places ; 
and in all mountain countries rock-climbers 
tend to use light shoes— rope-shoes or rub- 
ber-shoes — rather than boots. But though the 
toe in its natural freedom may become very 
prehensile, the finger is far more so. Now the 
secret of Jones's rock-climbing was his in- 
genious use of these climbing instruments 
provided by Nature. He was never rash or 
excitable ; on the contrary, he was slow and 
level-headed. He would first bring to bear on 
a difficult rock all the ingenuity of a mathe- 
matician. When he passed from thought to 
action, his power lay in the perfect co-ordina- 
tion of brain and muscle — the harmony of 
hand and eye — and, above all, in the com- 
plete and exquisite sympathy of movement 
between all parts of the climbing body. 
Mere energy and pluck — mere clearness of 
head, even— will not carry you very far. A 
thoughtless move — a false shifting of the 
wrong hand or the false precedence of foot 
by hand or hand by foot— may prove fatal. 
To Glynne Jones the clue to a difficult rock 
would sometimes be found in a single notch, 
where the hand or foot could find leverage 
to lift the whole body to a safe resting- 
place, sometimes in the skilful location 
of the body so that it could be supported 
by the knee and the back, without rest for 
either hand or foot. That is how he often 
threaded the apparently impossible gullies of 
the Welsh and I^ake mountains. 

But though Glynne Jones preached caution 
and care, he would not admit any limit to 
human skill and endurance. He was himself 
a peculiarly u safe " climber, because, after 
all, he knew his own limits ; but to the young 
and ardent men around him he was doubtless 
a dangerous guide. His death, as we shall see, 
was due to no fault of his own ; but he 
preached and practised a sport which could 
not be otherwise than on jesting terms with 

But now to come back to the tragedy 
recorded in Herr Setter's telegram. 

Mr. F. W. Hill, whose narrative in the 
Alpine Journal necessarily forms the best 
evidence as to the incidents, says that it 
was Glynne Jones who wanted to climb the 
Dent Blanche by its western arete— a notably 

difficult undertaking, and one that has 
probably only twice been achieved. 

Glynne Jones had discussed the possi- 
bilities of the undertaking with his own 
guide, Elias Furrer, of Stalden, and they had 
come to the conclusion that the conditions 
were never likely to be more favourable than 
in this August of 1899. Glynne Jones, there- 
fore, asked Mr. Hill to accompany them, and 
to bring along with him his own guide, Jean 
Vuignier, of Evolena. Both guides knew 
their climbers very well ; for Furrer had been 
with Glynne Jones on and off for five years, 
and Vuignier had climbed at Zermatt with 
Hill the year before. But Mr. Hill, who had 
promised to take his wife to Zermatt over 
the Col d'Herens, refused to go. Glynne 
Jones accordingly secured a second guide in 
Clemens Zurbriggen, of Saas-Fee, a young 
member of a great climbing clan. Vuignier, 
however, was so disappointed at his employer's 
refusal that Mr. Hill, finding that his wife 
made no objection, finally consented to join 
the party. Thus, with the addition of Mr. 
Hill and his guide, the expedition numbered 
five members. They left Arolla on Sunday 
morning, August 27th, with a porter carrying 
blankets. They intended to sleep on the 
rocks below the arete. Arriving at the 
Bricolla chalets, a few shepherds' huts high 
up the mountain, at four in the afternoon, 
they changed their minds, sent the blankets 
down to Arolla, and slept in the huts. 

They started at three o'clock in the morn- 
ing in two parties, the first consisting of 
Furrer, Zurbriggen, and Jones, roped in that 
order, and the second of Vuignier and Hill. 
They crossed the glacier and reached the 
ridge in good time. " It was soon very 
evident," says Mr. Hill in his narrative, 
" that the climbing was going to be difficult, 
as the rocks were steep slabs, broken and 
easy occasionally, but on the whole far 
too smooth." Rock-climbers do not par- 
ticularly care how steep a rock may be 
so long as it is broken up into fissures 
which will give hold to the feet and hands. 
In the steepest mountains of the Dolomite 
region, for instance, the rocks are thus 
broken, and therefore mountains can be 
climbed easily which, from their bases, look 
absolutely inaccessible. 

As they progressed up and along the ridge 
the climbing became more and more difficult. 
They had to go slowly and with extreme 
caution, and often they were in doubt as to 
the best way to proceed. Sometimes, indeed, 
there seemed no Dossible route. In these 

P'^uStMsih^FMGA^^ 6 been 

8 4 


accepted os the leader of the 

detach himself from the rope ai 

to find a passage. 

On entering upon this part 

the two parties had joined ro 

now advancing as one, and rope 

— Furrer, Zurbriggen, Glynne Jones 

and Hill- 
It is evident that between 

nine o'clock and ten climbing 

had become exceedingly 

arduous. " In two or three 

places," says Mr. Hill, "the 

only possible way was over 

an overhanging rock up which 

the leader had to be pushed 

and the others helped from 

above and below/' This 

gives us a graphic picture 

of the nature of the climb. 

Nothing is more fatiguing 

than to climb over a rock 

which is in the least degree 

overhanging. Mr, Hill tells 

me that Furrer showed him 

his finder - tips at 

breakfast- time — 

9 a,m, — and that 

they were severely 


Yet no one must 

imagine for an in- 
stant that the party * 

was in the least 

degree puzzled or 

vexed. There is 

nothing so exhilara- 
ting as the conflict 

with danger, and it 

generally happens in 

climbing a mountain 

that the party is 

merriest at the most 

difficult places. 

Mr, Hill, indeed, 

tells us that they 

were in the "highest 

spirits," " Climbing 

carefully," he says, 

" but in the highest 

spirits, we made 

good progress for at ten o'clock it was agreed 

we were within an hour of the summit/' It 

was at this point and time that the accident 


They had been forced below the ridge by 

the difficulty of the rocks, and had come to 

a place where their obvious route lay up a 

narrow gully, or sloping chimney. On an 


Frtnn a Photo, hv S, P Ahrahmn, K wrick. 

ordinary day it is possible that they would 
have found no difficulty in going forward, 
but a few days before there had been rain, 
and probably snow, on these high rock 
summits. At any rate, the rocks were 
"glazed"; covered, that is, with a film of 
ice, probably snow melted and re- frozen* 
just sufficQfi45y n l^ifeip 1Tb adhere, and suffi- 




ciently slippery to make the fingers "slither" 
over the rocks. If the climber cannot clear 
away the ice with his ice-axe, he must go 
round another way, and if the rocks are 
steep the first course becomes obviously 
impossible. That was the condition of 
affairs at ten o'clock on the morning of 
August 28th, 1899. 

In a party of five roped together, with 
thirty feet of rope between each member, 
the amount of space covered by the party 
will obviously be forty yards ; and it fre- 
quently happens that those who are roped 
last cannot see the leaders. Mr. Hill, as we 
have seen, was roped last, and by the time 
he reached the level of the other climbers 
Furrer had already turned away from the 
gully and was attempting to climb to the 
ridge by another route. To the left of the 
gully in front of them was a vertical rock face 
stretching for about thirty feet. Beyond this 
was a smooth-looking buttress some ten feet 
high, by climbing which the party could 
regain the ridge. When Hill came up with 
the rest, Furrer was already attempting to 
climb this buttress. 

But the buttress was quite smooth, and 
Furrer was at a loss to find a hold. Unable 
to support himself, he called to Zurbnggen 
to place an axe under his feet for him to 
stand on. In this way he might be able to 
reach with his hands to the top of the but- 
tress. There was nothing unusual in this 
method of procedure. In climbing difficult 
rocks, when the handholds are far up, it is 
frequently the custom to help the climber by 
placing an ice-axe under his feet. But in 
this case Furrer discovered that he could 
not climb the buttress with the help of Zur- 
bnggen alone, and he would probably have 
done more wisely if he had abandoned the 
attempt. But, instead of that, he called 
Glynne Jones to help Zurbriggen in holding 
him up. 

" Apparently," says Mr. Hill, " he did not 
feel safe, for he turned his head and spoke 
to Glynne Jones, who then went to hold the 
axe steady." 

From Mr. Hill's own explanations the 
situation was as follows : The leading 
climl>er, Furrer, was grasping the rock face, 
standing on an ice-axe held vertically by 
Zurbriggen and Glynne Jones. These two 
were forced, in order to hold the ice-axe 
securely, to crouch down with their faces to 
the ground, and were, therefore, oblivious of 
what was going on above them. But the 
important point is that their four hands were 
occupied in holding the ice-axe, and that as 

they were standing on a narrow ledge, with a 
very sharp slope immediately below, these 
two men were in a helpless position. They 
were unready to stand a shock. Thus, at 
the critical moment, out of a party of five 
climbers, three had virtually cast everything 
on a single die ! 

Mr. Hill, standing level with the rest of 
the party, could see quite clearly what was 
happening. He was about sixty feet distant 
from them, the guide Vuignier being roped 
between them at an equal distance of some 
thirty feet from each. Furrer could now 
stand upright on the axe, which was firmly 
held by four strong hands, and could reach 
with his own fingers to the top of the 
buttress. It was a perilous moment. It is 
the rule with skilled climbers that you should 
never leave your foothold until you have 
secured your handhold. The natural issue 
would have been that Furrer, finding it im- 
possible to secure on the smooth rock a 
steady grip with his hands, should have 
declined to trust himself. But the science 
of the study is one thing and the art of the 
mountain another. There are moments when 
a man does not know whether he has secured 
a steady grip or an unsteady, and the ques* 
tion can only be answered by making the 
attempt. If the party blundered at all, it 
was in allowing the second and third men to 
be so completely occupied with holding the 
axe that there was no reserve of power to 
hold up Furrer in case of a slip. But it is 
easy to speak after the event. 

What Hill now saw was this : He saw 
Furrer reach his hands to the top of the 
buttress, take a grip, and attempt to pull 
himself up. But his feet never left the ice- 
axe beneath, for in the process of gripping 
his hands slipped. And then, as Hill looked, 
Furrer's body slowly fell back. It seemed, 
he has told himself, to take quite a long time 
falling. Furrer fell backwards, right on to 
the two oblivious men beneath him, causing 
them to collapse instantly, knocking them 
off their standing place, and carrying them 
with him in his fall from the ridge. " All 
three," says Mr. Hill in his narrative, 
" fell together." Instinctively he turned 
to the wall to get a better hold of the 
rock, and therefore did not see the next 
incident in the fatal sequence. Vuignier, 
as we have seen, was standing thirty feet from 
the first three, and the weight of three human 
bodies swinging at the end of the rope must 
have come directly on him. He was, appar- 
ently, taken by surprise, and immediately 

pu HfliWfe[M)F ffitetf that terrib,e 



NM'I'.s M*l 

ftam « /'4atu. ijp tf. I*. AbrakanK jh F *#iriofr. 

sound— the scuffle and rattle of stones that 
meant the dragging of a helpless human being 
into space— and he knew, or thought he knew, 
that his own turn would come in a moment : 
but as he clung there to the rock, waiting for 
the inevitable end, there was a pause. 
Nothing happened. 

After a few endless seconds of time he faced 

round and found himself alone. look- 
ing down, he saw his four companions 
sliding down the precipitous slopes at 
a terrific rate, without a cry, but with 
arms outstretched, helplessly falling 
into the abyss. Between him and 
them, and from his waist, there hung 
thirty feet of rope swinging slowly to 
and fro* The faithful Vuignier had 
probably fastened the rope securely 
round some point 
of rock to protect 
his master. The 
full weight of the 
four bodies had 
probably expended 
itself on the rock- 
fastening of the 
rope, and thereby 
saved the life of 
the fifth climber. 
Dazed and aston- 
ished to find him- 
self still in the 
land of the living, 
Mr. Hill stood for 
some time watch- 
ing his comrades 
fall, until, sick- 
en ed r he turned 
away to face his 
own situation. 

It was not very 
promising. He 
was without food, 
drink, or warm 
clothing. No man 
alone could climb 
down by the ridge 
up which those 
five experts had 
climbed in the 
morning. And in 
front lay a difficulty 
which had already 
destroyed his 
friends when 
attempting to over- 
come it by mutual 
help. It seemed 
Perhaps it was fortunate that Hill was not 
only a mathematician, but a man of character- 
istic mathematical temperament— cool, un- 
emotional, long headed, Most men in his 
situation would have gone mad. Some 
would have waited right there till starvation 
overcame them or a_ rescue party arrived. 
Hut there wyrifltlfeawiiSWthance of a rescue 




party, and Mr. Hill was certainly not the man 
"to wait for starvation. It was a curious irony 
that probably at that very moment there was 
a party on the summit of the Dent Blanche. 
Mr. H ill's party had seen two climbers on 
the south arete at half-past eight o'clock, 
and again about an hour later. At this 
moment they were probably at the summit. 
But Mr. Hill had no means of communicat- 
ing with them, and the hour's climb which 
lay between him and them might as well 
have been the length of Europe* An hour 
later he himself heard a faint "cooey" (the 
party were probably on the way down) — 
a jovial, generous hail from men unconscious 
of any catastrophe. 

Mr. Hill's immediate task was to regain the 
ridge and reach the summit At the moment 
of the accident he was some sixty feet from 
the fatal buttress, and now wisely made no 
attempt to get near it. Instead, he moved to 
circumvent the glazed gully from its other 
side. After long and tedious efforts, lasting 
for a period of time which he cannot now even 
approximately estimate, he succeeded in his 
flanking movement, and finally with great 
labour and penl climbed back to the ridge by 
a slope of frozen snow and ice broken with 
rocks. It would be difficult to imagine 
anything more terrible than this lonely 
climb over ice-covered rocks, the pain- 
ful cutting of steps up an almost precipitous 
wall, with a precipice many thousand 
feet deep at his back, down which the 
smallest slip would send him to certain 
death. But at last he regained the ridge, 
and the difficulties of ascent were now 
mainly overcome. In about another hour 
he found himself on the summit— a solitary, 
mournful victor. It was there he heard the 
shout from the other party. But he could 
not see them or make them hear, and so he 
made his way down with all reasonable speed, 
hoping to overtake them. 

Hill had climbed the Dent Blanche in the 
previous year with a guided party, and 
therefore, to some extent, knew the route. 
Without much difficulty he was able to 
follow the ridge as far as possible down 
to the lowest gendarme,, a pile of rock 
with a deep, narrow fissure. Then a 
sudden mist hid everything from view, 
and it was impossible to see the way off 
the gendarme. He tried several routes 
downward in the mist, but at last wisely 
resolved to wait till it lifted. While he was 
searching, a snow-storm and a cold wind 
came up. " They drove me," says Mr. Hill 
in his plain way, " to seek shelter in the lee 

of the rocks." There he tied himself with 
his rope, and, to avoid the danger of falling 
off in a moment of sleep, still further secured 
himself by an ice-axe wedged firmly in front 
of him —poor protections to a man absolutely 
without food or wraps, clinging to the side of 
an abyss in the searching cold and stormy 
darkness of mist and snow, wedged under the 
eave of an overhanging rock, and only able to 
sit in a cramped posture. But Mr. Hill was 
no ordinary man. If the Fates were asking 
for his life he determined to sell it dearly, 
sustained in his resolve by the thought of 
that waiting wife, unconscious of ill, below in 

It must have been, at this time, past mid- 
day on Monday, August 28th. I can myself 
remember that snow-storm, as I saw it at this 
very time from the heights above the Lake of 
Geneva, surging up grey and cruel from the 
west, devouring the spaces of blue, and 
wrapping the distant hills in darkness. Little 
did I think at that hour of the friend up 
there among the heights without food or 
covering, seemingly forgotten of man. 

The storm lasted all that Monday and 
Monday night, and Tuesday morning. All 
through those dreadful hours of darkness 
Hill sat in the cleft of rock, sleeping most of 
the time, but always half-frozen with the cold, 
and whenever he awoke obliged to beat him- 
self to regain his natural warmth. Happily, 
he was well protected against the falling 
snow by the eave of the overhanging rock, 
but it covered his knees and boots, causing 
him intense cold in the feet. 

At last, at midday on Tuesday, the mist 
cleared and the sun shone again in a sky of 
perfect blue. He could now resume his 
descent. To climb over snow-covered rocks 
in a roped party is difficult enough, but to do 
it alone is to risk your life many times over. 
But there was no alternative. 

At last the rocks ended and the worst of 
the peril was over. He had reached the 
snow arete, where not even the heavy fall of 
snow had quite obliterated the tracks of 
those who had gone in front of him. These 
helped him to find his way. But the steps 
had mostly to be recut, and that must have 
been very fatiguing after his previous ex- 
periences. The next difficulty was the lower 
part of the Wandfluh, a bold wall of rock 
which leads down first to the Schonbuhl 
and then to the Zmutt glaciers, and which, 
at its base, ends in a steep precipice 
that can be descended only by one gully. 
Here Mr. Hill's memory failed him. He 

could OjfoBfefWffl: ffifcffc/ffl 8 the ""** 



gully. This was, 
perhaps, the most 
terrible trial of all. 
If he could find 
that gully his task 
was almost accom- 
plished. The rest 
of the descent to 
Zermatt is little 
more than a walk. 
But hour nfter 
hour passed ; he 
descended gully 
after gully, only to 
find himself 
blocked below by 
one precipice after 
another In one 
of these attempts 
he dropped his ice- 
axe, without which 
he could never 
hope to return 
alive. Unless he 
could recover it he 
was a dead man. 
But, no, it was not 
quite lost. There 
it lay, far below 
him, on the rocks* 
Slowly and pain- 
fully he descended 
the gully to fetch 
it. At last he 
reached it. In this 
quest he wasted a 
whole hour ! 

At last he dis- 
covered a series of 
chimneys to the 
extreme right of 
the Wandfluh and 
leading down to 
the glacier, Let- 
ting himself down 
these steep chim- 
neys, he found 
himself at last, on 

Tuesday evening, on the high moraines of 
the Zmutt glacier. He must have reached 
the glacier about six o'clock, but he had 
only the sun to reckon by. Here the 
sleep descent ends, and there is but a stony 
walk of two and a half hours down the 
glacier by a path which leads to the Slaffcl 
Alp Inn. The sun set while he was still 
on the moraine, and he has a vivid recol- 
lection of seeing the red u Alpcngtuh 7} on 
Monte Rosa* But as the darkness crew it 

J HH- NtKJJl.E AH I. IK, !,KM I' t.A IH.K — <■ \Y I H K IHMIt'. MUTUks I UK EllC.H»'r IS JONES AND THE 


a PAoio. by (/, f\ Ai*raha*rt t Krivvk. 

LUWtST MJt. H]|.l., TI!K 

From i 

became more and more difficult to keep to 
the path. 

Here at last his marvellous strength began 
to fail him. He had no snow glasses, and 
his eyes were suffering from the prolonged 
glare of the snow, A sort of waking 
trance fell on him- As he stumbled for- 
ward, over the stones of that horrible 
moraine, he imagined that his companions 

were still jplive and with him, He kept 
ing to 4N£HHk f po £Bme along/' "It is 




getting late, you fel- 
lows*" he shouted ; 
i( come alongJ' 

At last he was 
brought up by a 
great rock* In the 
darkness he had 
wandered below the 
path, The rock 
entirely barred his 
way. He had a 
vague illusion that 
it was a chalet, and 
wandered round it 
searching for a 
door. At last he 
settled down by it 
in a semi-conscious 
condition. Then 
he must have fallen 
asleep, probably 
about ten o'clock. 
The sleep lasted 
about twelve hours, 
and was better than 
meat and drink. 
To most men it 
would have ended 
in death. 

When he woke up at ten o'clock on 
Wednesday morning, in broad daylight, he 
soon saw that he had been sleeping quite 
near the path. A few minutes' scramble 
brought him back to it, and he soon canie to 
a little wooden refreshment house about an 
hour below the StafFel Inn, which he had 
passed in the darkness. He went up to the 
woman at the hut and asked for some kvr ! 
He had only fifty centimes in his pocket ; 
one of his dead companions had held the 
purse. He volunteered no complaint ; but 
the woman was sympathetic, and soon found 
out whence he came. She then gave him a 
little milk and some dry bread —all she had. 
After a short rest he resumed his way to 
Zermatt, distant about half an hour, and 
reached the village at 11*30. As he was 
walking down the main street past the church 
he met his wife. 

He told her simply what had happened. 
Then he had lunch. " I was now ravenous," 
he says, "and devoured a beefsteak, with the 
help of a glass of whisky and soda, and a 
bottle of champagne." Within an hour or 
two he was entirely recovered. 

We received the news at nine o'clock, and 
by eleven we were threading our way in the 

_, tt Digitized by GOOQ I C 

VoL x**.— 12. 

jftwn a Phuto, ty G. F. jttowAam, Ktttcick. 

pitch dark, lighted only by a few lanterns, up 

the valley towards the Dent Blanche, I 

need not dwell on that mournful search. We 

reached the Brieolla hut at half-past three 

o'clock in the morning, and then pursued our 

way through mist and rain up into that high 

region of glaciers and snow where our friends 

were resting. High up on the rocks above 

us we found their bodies, and brought them 

back to Handeres that evening. We were 

out on the mountains for twenty hours. On 

Saturday morning we buried Glynne Jones 

and his Evolena guide 111 the little country 

churchyard which lies above the village. It 

was an exquisite summer morning, and the 

sun shone down on us from a sky of un- 

flecked blue. The storm had passed, and 

Nature seemed to speak of nothing but life. 

Far away at the head of the valley the spire 

of the Dent Blanche shone white and pure 

against the sky. 

There in the Evolena churchyard we 

lowered his coffin into a rude grave, and 

before we left set up over it a rough cross 

to hold the place until we should have what 

men deem a more worthy memorial, But 

perhaps that rough cross in such a place was 

the best emblem that could be put up over 

the grave of Glynne lones. 
& Original from 


The Persecution of Bob Pretty. 

By W. W. Jacobs. 

HE old man sat on his 
accustomed bench outside 
the Cauliflower, A generous 
measure or beer stood in a 
blue and white jug by his 
elbow, and little wisps of 
smoke curled slowly upwards from the bowl 
of his churchwarden pipe. The knapsacks 
of tw T o young men lay where they were flung 
on the table, and the owners, taking a noon- 
tide rest, turned a polite, if bored, ear to 
the reminiscences of grateful old age. 


Poaching, said the old man, who had tried 
topics ranging from early turnips to horse- 
shoeing — poaching ain't wot it used to be in 
these 'ere parts. Nothing is like it used to be, 
poaching nor anything else ; but thai there 
man you might ha T noticed as went out about 
ten minutes ago and called me " Old Truth- 
fulness " as 'e passed is the worst one I know. 
Bob Pretty 'is name is, and of all the 
sly, artful, deceiving men that ever lived in 
Clay bury f e is the worst— never did a honest 
day's work in 'is life and never wanted the 
price of a glass of ale. 

Copyright, J003, by W, W< J*cubs 

Bob Pretty's worst time was just after old 
Squire Brown died. The old squire couldn't 
afford to preserve niuchj but by-and by a 
gentleman with plenty o' money* from 
London, named Rockett, took J is place and 
things began to look up. Pheasants was 4s 
favourites, and J e spent no end o' money 
rearing of 'em, but anything that could be 
shot at suited 'im, too. 

He started by sneering at the tittle game 
that Squire Brown *ad left, but ail 'e could 
do didn't seem to make much difference; 
things disappeared in 
a most eggstrordinary 
way, and the keepers 
went pretty near cra/.y, 
while the things the 
squire said about Clay- 
bury and Clay bury 
men was disgraceful. 
Everybody knew as 
it was Bob Pretty and 
one or two of *is 
mates from other 
places, but they 
couldn't prove it 
They couldn't 
catch 'im nohow, 
and at last the 
squire 'ad two 
keepers set off to 
watch *im by 
night and by day* 
Boh Pretty 
wouldn't believe 
it ; he said 'e 
couldn't. And 
even when it was 
pointed out to *im 
that Keeper Lewis was follering of T im 
he said that it just 'appened he was going 
the same way, that was all. And sometimes 
'e'd get up in the middle of the night and go 
for a fifteen-mile walk "cos Vd got the tooth- 
ache, and Mr. Lewis, who 'ad n't got it, had 
to tag along arter 'im till he was fit to drop. 
O' course, it was one keeper the less to look 
arter the game, and by and-by the squire 
see that and took lm off. 

All the same they kept a pretty close 
watch on Bob, and at last one arternoon 



past Gray's farm, and asked him wot it was 
he 'ad got in his pockets. 

11 That's my bisness, Mr. Lewis," ses Bob 

Mr. Smith, the other keeper, passed 'is 
hands over Bob's coat and felt something 
soft and bulgy. 

" You take your 'ands off of me," ses Bob ; 
"you don't know 'ow partikler I am." 

He jerked 'imself away, but they caught 
'old of 'im agin, and Mr. Lewis put 'is hand 
in his inside pocket and pulled out two 
brace o' partridges. 

" You'll come along of us," he ses, catch- 
ing 'im by the arm. 

" We've been looking for you a long time," 
ses Keeper Smith, " and it's a pleasure for us 
to 'ave your company." 

Bob Pretty said 'e wouldn't go, but they 
forced 'im along and took 'im all the way to 
Cudford, four miles off, so that Policeman 
White could lock 'im up for the night. Mr. 
White was a'most as pleased as the keepers, 
and 'e warned Bob solemn not to speak 
becos all 'e said would be used agin 'im. 

" Never mind about that," ses Bob Pretty. 
"I've got a clear conscience, and talking 
can't 'urt me. I'm very glad to see you, Mr. 
White ; if these two clever, experienced 
keepers hadn't brought me I should 'ave 
looked you up myself. They've been and 
stole my partridges." 

Them as was standing round laughed, and 
even Policeman White couldn't 'elp giving a 
little smile. 

"There's nothing to lafugh at," ses Bob, 
'olding his 'ead up. " It's a fine thing when 
a working man — a 'ardworking man — can't 
take home a little game for 'is family without 
being stopped and robbed." 

" I s'pose they flew into your pocket ? " 
ses Policeman White. 

"No, they didn't," ses Bob. "I'm not 
going to tell any lies about it ; I put 'em 
there. The partridges in my inside coat- 
pocket and the bill in my waistcoat-pocket." 

"The billl" ses Keeper Lewis, staring 
at 'im. 

"Yes, the bill," ses Bob Pretty, staring 
back at 'im ; " the bill from Mr. Keen, the 
poulterer, at Wickham." 

He fetched it out of 'is pocket and showed 
it to Mr. White, and the keepers was like 
madmen a'most 'cos it was plain to see 
that Bob Pretty 'ad been and bought them 
partridges just for to play a game on 

"I was curious to know wot they tasted 
like," he ses to the policeman. '* Worst of it 

is, I don't s'pose my pore wife'll know 'ow to 
cook 'em." 

" You get off 'ome," ses Policeman White, 
staring at 'im. 

" But ain't I goin' to be locked up ? " ses 
Bob. "'Ave I been brought all this way 
just to 7 ave a little chat with a policeman I 
don't like." 

" You go 'ome," ses Policeman White, 
handing the partridges back to 'im. 

" All right," ses Bob, " and I may 'ave to 
call you to witness that these 'ere two men 
laid hold o' me and tried to steal my part- 
ridges. I shall go up and see my loryer 
about it." 

He walked off 'ome with his 'ead up as 
high as 'e could hold it, and the airs 'e used 
to give 'imself arter this was terrible for to 
behold. He got 'is eldest boy to write a 
long letter to the squire about it, saying 
that 'e'd overlook it this time, but 'e couldn't 
promise for the future. Wot with Bob Pretty 
on one side and Squire Rockett on the 
other, them two keepers' lives was 'ardly 
worth living. 

Then the squire got a head-keeper named 
Cutts, a man as was said to know more about 
the ways of poachers than they did them- 
selves. He was said to 'ave cleared out all 
the poachers for miles round the place 'e 
came from, and pheasants could walk into 
people's cottages and not be touched. 

He was a sharp-looking man, tall and thin, 
with screwed-up eyes and a little red beard. 
The second day 'e came 'e was up here at 
this 'ere Cauliflower, having a pint o' beer 
and looking round at the chaps as he talked 
to the landlord. The odd thing was that 
men who'd never taken a hare or a pheasant 
in their lives could 'ardly meet 'is eye, while 
Bob Pretty stared at 'im as if 'e was a wax- 

" I 'ear you 'ad a little poaching in these 
parts afore I came," ses Mr. Cutts to the 

" I think I 'ave 'eard something o' the 
kind," ses the landlord, staring over his 'ead 
with a far-away look in 'is eyes. 

" You won't hear of much more," ses the 
keeper. " I've invented a new way of 
catching the dirty rascals ; afore I came 'ere 
I caught all the poachers on three estates. 
I clear 'em, out just like a ferret clears out 

" Sort o' man-trap ? " ses the landlord. 

" Ah, that's tellings," ses Mr. Cutts. 

"Well, I 'ope you'll catch 'em here," ses 
Bob Pretty ; " there's far too many of 'em 
about for my liking. Far too many." 




11 1 shall J ave 'em afore long," ses Mr. 
Cutts, nodding his 'ead. 

" Your good 'ealth," ses Bob Pretty, hold- 
ing up 'is mug. " We've been wanting a man 
like you for a long time," 

11 1 don't want any of your impidence, my 
man," ses the keeper. "I've 'eard about Mr, Cutts, at last 

Mr. Cutts went black in the face almost 
and stared at Bob Pretty as if 'e was going 
to eat 'irn, and Bob stared back, looking fust 
at the keeper s nose and then at 'is eyes and 
mouth, and then at 'is nose agin. 

" You'll know me agin, I s'pose ? " ses 


you, and nothing good either. You be 

" I am careful," ses Bob, winking at the 
others. " I 'ope you'll catch all them low 
poaching chaps j they give the place a bad 
name, and Pm a most afraid to go out arter 
dark for fear of meeting 'em." 

Peter Gubbins and Sam Jones began to 
laugh, but Bob Pretty got angry with 'em 
and said he didn't see there was anything to 
laugh at. He said that poaching was a dis- 
grace to their native place, and instead o* 
laughing they ought to be thankful to Mr. 
Cutts for coming to do away with it alL 

"Any help I can give you shall be given 
cheerful," he ses to the keeper, 

"When I want your help 111 ask you for 
it/' ses Mr. Cutts. 

"Thankee," ses Bob Pretty. "I on'y 
'ope I shan't get my face knocked about 
like yours 'as been, that's all j cos my wife's 
so pnrtikler." 

"Wot d'ye mean ? " ses Mr. Cutts, turning on 
him. "My face ain't been knocked about," 

"Oh, I heg your pardin/' ses Bob; "I 
4idn't know it was natural." 


"Yes," ses Bob, 
smiling; "I should 
know you a mile off 
— on the darkest 

"We shall see t " 
ses Mr. Cutts, taking 
up 'is beer and turn- 
ing 'is back on him. 
" Those of us as 
live the longest'll 
see the most." 

"Pm glad I've 
lived long enough 
to see 'im, 11 ses Bob 
to Bill Chambers. 
" I feel more satis- 
fied with myseff 

Bill Chambers 
coughed, and Mr, 
Cutts, arter finishing 
'is beer, took another 
look at Bob Pretty ? 
and went off boiling 

The trouble he took to catch Bob Pretty 
arter that you wouldn't believe, and all the 
time the game seemed to be simply melting 
away, and Squire Rockett was finding fault 
with *im all day long. He was worn to a 
shadder a'most with watching, and Bob 
Pretty seemed to be more prosperous than 

Sometimes Mr. Cutts watched in the 
plantations, and sometimes J e hid Imself 
near Bob's house, and at last one night, when 
'e was crouching behind the fence of 
Frederick Scott's front garden, ? e saw Bob 
Pretty come out of 'is house and, arter a 
careful look round, walk up the road. He 
held 'is breath as Bob passed 'im, and was 
just getting up to f oiler 'im when Bob 
stopped and walked slowly back agin, sniff- 

u Wot a delicious smell o' roses ! " he ses, 
out loud. 

He stood in the middle o' the road nearly 
opposite whore the keeper was hiding, and 
sniffed so that you could ha' 'eard him the 
other end o J the village, 

" It can't bz: roses/ 1 he ses, in a puzzled 




voice, M becos there ain't no roses here- 
abouts, and, besides, it's late for 'em. It 
must be Mr. Cutts, the clever new keeper." 

He put his 3 ead over the fence and bid 'im 
good evening, and said wot a fine night for a 
stroll it was, and a.sked 'im whether 3 e was 
waiting for Frederick Scott's aunt Mr, 
Cutts didn't answer 'im a word ; J e was pretty 
near bursting with passion. He got up and 
shook 'is fist in Bob Pretty's face, and then 3 e 
went off stamp- 
ing down the 
road as if ] e was 
going mad. 

And for a 
time Bob Pretty 
seemed to 'ave 
all the luck on 
is side. Keeper 
Lewis got rheu- 
matic fever, 
which 'e put 
down to sitting 
about night 
arter night in 
damp places 
watching for 
Bob, and, while 
'e was in the 
thick of it, with 
the doctor 
going every 
day f Mr* Cutts 
fell in getting 
over a fence 
and broke % 
leg. Then all 
the work fell 
on Ke e per 
Smith, and to 
'ear ; im talk 
you'd think that 
rheumatic fever 
and broken legs 

was better than anything else in the world. 
He asked the squire for 'el p, but the squire 
wouldn't give it to 'im, and he kept telling 
'im wot a feather in 'is cap it would be 
if 'e did wot the other two couldn't do, 
and caught Bob Pretty. It was all very 
well, but, as Smith said, wot 'e wanted was 
feathers in 3 is ptller, instead of 'aving to 
snatch a bit o' sleep in 'is chair or sitting 
down with his T ead agin a tree. When I tell 
you that J e fell asleep in this public- 'ouse one 
night while the landlord was drawing a pint 
o 5 beer he T ad ordered, you'll know wot } e 
0' course^ alt this suited Bob Pretty as 

well as could be, and 'e was that good- 
tempered Vd got a nice word for everybody, 
and when Bill Chambers told 'im 'e was 
foolhardy *e only laughed and said 'e knew 
wot J e was about. 

But the very next night 3 e had reason to 
remember Bill Chambers's wordsu He was 
walking along Farmer Hall's field — the one 
next to the squire's plantation — and, so far 

from being nervous, 'e 


was actually a- 
whistling. He'd 
got a sack over 
J is shoulder, 
loaded as full 
as it could be, 
and 'e 'ad just 
stopped to light 
3 is pipe when 
three men burst 
out o T the plan- 
tation and ran 
towards 'im as 
3 ard as they 
could run. 

Bob Pretty 
just gave one 
look and then 
J e dropped 'is 
pipe and set off 
like a hare. It 
was no good 
dropping the 
sack, because 
Smith, the 
keeper, *ad re- 
cognised 'im 
and called 'im 
by name, so 'e 
just put 'is teeth 
together and 
did the best he 
could, and 
there's no 

been for the sack 

doubt that if it 'adn't ha' 
'e could 'ave got clear away. 

As it was, 3 e ran for pretty near a mile, 
and they could 'ear J im breathing like a pair 
o T bellows ; but at last 'e saw that the game 
was up. He just managed to struggle as far 
as Farmer Pinnock's pond, and then, waving 
the sack round his 'ead, 'e flung it into the 
middle of it, and fell down gasping for 

"Got— you— this time — Bob Pretty," ses 
one o 1 the men, as they came up. 

"Wot— Mr. Cuits?" ses Bob, with a start 

" That's me, my man/ 3 ses the keeper. 

"Why — I thought — you was— — , Is that 
Mr. Lewis ? It caivt U^" 




"That's me," ses Keeper Lewis. "We 
both got well sudden -like, Bob Pretty, when 
we J eard you was out. You ain't so sharp as 
you thought you was** 1 

Bob Pretty sat still, getting 'is breath back 
and doing a bit o' thinking at the same time, 

" You give me a start," he ses, at last, "I 
thought you was both in bed, and, knowing 
J ow hard worked Mr, Smith 'as been, I just 
came round to 'dp 'im keep watch like. 1 
promised to 'elp you, Mr, Cutts, if you 

"Wot was that you threw in the pond just 
now ? " ses Mr. Cutts* 

" A sack," ses Bob Pretty ; "a sack I found 
in Farmer Hall's field. It felt to me as 
though it might ? ave birds in it, so I picked it 
up, and I was just on my way to your 'ouse 
with it, Mr, Cutts, when you started arter 

" Ah ! " ses the keeper, " and wot did you 
run for?" 

Bob Pretty tried to laugh, " Becos I 
thought it was the poachers arter me," he 
ses, "It seems ridikilous, don't it ? * 

" Yes, it docs," ses Lewis. 

"I thought you'd know me a mile off," ses 
Mr. Cutts. " I should ha* thought the smell 
o } roses would ha' told you 1 was near. 11 

Bob Pretty scratched 'is 'ead and looked 
at 'im out of the 
corner of Is eye, but 
he 'adn't got any 
answer. 111 en 'e sat 
biting his finger- 
nails and thinking 
while the keepers 
stood argyfying as 
to who should take 
'is clothes off and 
go into the pond 
arter the pheasants. 
It was a very cold 
night and the pond 
was pretty deep in 
places, and none of 
'em seemed anxious. 

" Make 1m go in 
for |L W ses Lewis, 
looking at Bob; 
" J e chucked it in," 

"On'y becos I 
thought you was 
poachers," ses Bob* 
" I'm sorry to 'ave 
caused so much 

" Well, you go in 
and get it out," ses 

Lewis, who pretty well guessed who'd 'ave 
to do it if Bob didn't. "It'll look better 
for you, too/' 

" IVe got my defence all right," ses Bob 
Pretty, "I ain't set a foot on the squire's 
preserves, and I found this sack a 'undered 
yards away from it." 

** Don't waste more time," ses Mr. Cutts 
to Lewis. "Off with your clothes and in 
with you. Any body 'd think you was afraid 
of a little cold water," 

"Whereabouts did 3 e pitch it in?" ses 

Bob Pretty pointed with 'is finger exactly 
where J e thought it was, but they wouldn't 
listen to 'im, and then Lewis, arter twice 
saying wot a bad cold he'd got, took Is coat 
off very slow and careful 

" I wouldn't mind going in to oblige you," 
ses Bob Pretty, "but the pond is so full o' 
them cold, slimy efts; I don't fancy them 
crawling up agin me, and, besides that, there's 
such a lot o' deep holes in it, And wotever 
you do don't put your 'ead under; you know 
'ow foul that water is." 

Keeper Lewis pretended not to listen to 
J im, He took off 'is clothes very slowly and 
then *e put one foot in and stood shivering, 
although Smith, who felt the water with 
his 'and, sdid it was quite warm. Then 


Oricjin i ]V : M .. " 




Lewis put the other foot in and began to 
walk about careful, arf-way up to 'is knees. 

"I can't find it," he says, with 'is teeth 

"You 'aven't looked," ses Mr. Cutts; 
"walk about more ; you can't expect to find 
it all at once. Try the middle." 

Lewis tried the middle, and 'e stood 
there lip to 'is neck, feeling about with 
his foot and saying things out loud about 
Bob Pretty, and other things under 'is breath 
about Mr. Cutts. 

" Well, I'm going off 'ome," ses Bob 
Pretty, getting up. "I'm too tender-'arted 
to stop and see a man drownded." 

"You stay 'ere," ses Mr. Cutts, catching 
'old of him. 

" Wot for ? " ses Bob ; " you've got no right 
to keep me 'ere." 

"Catch 'old of 'im, Joe," ses Mr. Cutts, 

Smith caught 'old of his other arm, and 
Lewis left off trying to find the sack to 
watch the struggle. Bob Pretty fought 'ard, 
and once or twice 'e* nearly tumbled Mr. 
Cutts into the pond, but at last 'e gave in 
and lay down panting and talking about 'is 
loryer. Smith 'eld him down on the ground 
while Mr. Cutts kept pointing out places with 
'is finger for Lewis to walk to. The last 
place 'e pointed to wanted a much taller man, 
but it wasn't found out till too late, and the 
fuss Keeper Lewis made when 'e could speak 
agin was terrible. 

"You'd better come out," ses Mr. Cutts; 
" you ain't doing no good. We know where 
they are and we'll watch the pond till day- 
light—that is, unless Smith 'ud like to 'ave 
a try." 

"It's pretty near daylight now, I think," 
ses Smith. 

Lewis came out and ran up and down to 
dry 'imself, and finished off on 'is pocket- 
'andkerchief, and then with 'is teeth chattering 
'e began to dress 'imself. He got 'is- shirt 
on, and then 'e stood turning over 'is clothes 
as if 'e was looking for something. 

"Never mind about your stud now," ses 
Mr. Cutts ; "hurry up and dress." 

"Studl" ses Lewis, very snappish. "I'm 
looking for my trowsis." 

"Your trowsis?" ses Smith, 'elping 'im 

"I put all my clothes together," ses 
Lewis, a'most shouting. " Where are they ? 
I'm arf perished with cold. Where are 

"He 'ad 'em on this evening," ses Bob 
Pretty, " 'cos I remember noticing 'em." 

"They must be somewhere about," ses 
Mr. Cutts ; " why don't you use your eyes ? " 

He walked up and down, peering about, 
and as for Lewis he was 'opping round arf 

" I wonder," ses Bob Pretty, in a thought- 
ful voice, to Smith — " I wonder whether you 
or Mr. Cutts kicked 'em in the pond while- 
you was struggling with me. Come to think 
of it, I seem to remember 'earing a splash." 

" He's done it, Mr. Cutts," ses Smith ; 
" never mind, it'll go all the 'arder with 'im." 

" But I do mind," ses Lewis, shouting. 
" I'll be even with you for this, Bob Pretty. 
I'll make you feel it. You wait till I've done 
with you. You'll get a month extra for this, 
you see if you don't." 

" Don't you mind about me," ses Bob ; 
" you run off 'ome and cover up them legs 
of yours. I found that sack, so my con- 
science is clear." 

Lewis put on 'is coat and waistcoat and 
set off, and Mr. Cutts and Smith, arter feeling 
about for a dry place, set theirselves down 
and b^gan to smoke. 

"Look 'ere," ses Bob Pretty, "I'm not 
going to sit 'ere all night to please you ; I'm 
going off 'ome. If you want me you'll know 
where to find me," 

" You stay where you are," ses Mr. Cutts. 
" We ain't going to let you out of our sight" 

" Very well, then, you take me 'ome," ses 
Bob. " I'm not going to catch my death o' 
cold sitting 'ere. I'm not used to being out 
of a night like you are. I was brought up 

" I dare say," ses Mr. Cutts. " Take you 
'ome, and then 'ave one o' your mates come 
and get the sack while we're away." 

Then Bob Pretty lost 'is temper, and the 
things 'e said about Mr. Cutts wasn't fit for 
Smith to 'ear. He threw 'imself down at last 
full length on the ground and sulked till the 
day broke. 

Keeper Lewis was there a'most as soon as 
it was light, with some long hay-rakes he'd 
borrowed, and I should think that pretty 
near arf the folks in Clay bury 'ad turned up 
to see the fun. Mrs. Pretty was crying and 
wringing 'er 'ands ; but most folk seemed to 
be rather pleased that Bob 'ad been caught 
at last. 

In next to no time arf-a-dozen rakes was 
at work, and the things they brought out o' 
that pond you wouldn't believe. The edge 
of it was all littered with rusty tin pails and 
saucepans and such-like, and by-and-by 
Lewis found ihe things he'd 'ad to go 

9 6 


didn't seem to find that sack, and Bob 
Pretty, wot was talking to 'is wife, began to 
look 'opeful. 

But just then the squire came riding up 
with two friends as was staying with J im, and 
he offered a reward of live shillings to the 
man wot found it. Three or four of 'em 
waded in up to their middle then and raked 
their 'ardest, and at last Henery Walker give 
a cheer and brought it to the side, all heavy 
with water. 

"That's the sack I found, sir," ses Bob, 
starting up. "It wasn't on your land at all, 
but on the field next to it, I'm an honest, 

'aid working 

trouble afore. 

man, and I've never been in 

Ask anybody 'ere and they'll 
tell you the same," 

Squire Rockett took no notice of 'im, 
" Is that the sack ? " he asks, turning to Mr. 

u That's the one, sir;" ses Mr, Cutis. " I'd 
swear to it anywhere. 1 ' 

" You'd swear a man's life away," ses Bob. 
" 'Ow can you swear to it when it was dark ? " 

Mr. Cutts didn't answer J im. He went 
down on 'is knees and cut the string that tied 
up the mouth o' the sack, and then 'e started 
back as if Vd been shot, and 'is eyes a'most 
started out of ? is ! ead, 

11 What's the matter? " ses the squire, 
Mr. Cutts couldn't 
speak ; he could 
only stutter and 
point at the sack 
with 'is finger, and 
Henery Walker, as 
was getting curious^ 
lifted up the other 
end of it and out 
rolled about a score 
of as fine cabbages 
as you could wish 
to see, 

I never see 
people so astonish- 
ed afore in all 
ray born days, and 
as for Bob Pretty 
'e stood staring at 
them cabbages as 
if J e couldn't be- 
lieve 'is eyesight. 

" And that's wot 
I've been kept 
'ere all night for/' 
he ses at last, 
shaking his 'ead. 

u That's wot comes o' trying to do a kindness 
to keepers, and 'el ping of 'em in their difficult 
work, PVaps that ain't the sack arter all, Mr. 
Cutts, I could ha' sworn they was pheasants 
in the one I found, but I may be mistook, 
never J aving 'ad one in my *ands afore. Or 
pVaps somebody was trying to 'ave a game 
with you, Mr. Cutts, and deceived me 

The keepers on'y stared at 'im. 

" You ought to be more careful," ses Bob. 
"Very likely while you was taking all that 
trouble over me, and Keeper Lewis was 
catching 'is death o* cold, the poachers was 
up at the plantation taking all they wanted. 
And, besides, it ain't right for Squire Rockett 
to ave to pay Henery Walker five shillings 
for finding a lot of old cabbages* I 
shouldn't like it myself-" 

He looked out of the corner of Is eye at 
the squire, as was pretending not to notice 
Henery Walker touching Us cap to him, and 
then 'e turns to 'is wife and he ses :— 

"Come along, old gal," 'e ses, [f I want 
my breakfast bad, and arter that I shall 'ave 
to lose a honest day's work in bed." 

CT»^ *-rfHJ 


by Google 

Original from 

From ti) 



By E. S. Valentine. 



FEW years ago a German 
professor drove to the offices 
of a great firm of British iron- 
masters. He asked to see a 
member of the firm. 

"Do you build caissons?" 
he inquired. 

* { We do,*' was the reply. 
" Any limit as to size ? " 
The ironmaster paused for a moment; 
then, recognising that perhaps the national 
credit was at stake, answered decisively :— 
u None whatever ! " 

*' Then/' said the German professor, un- 
furling a huge scroll of diagrams, *' I have 
carefully estimated that the geological strata 
in Kent is, after the first subterranean mile, 
the softest on the earth's crust. I want to 
get into a caisson, with provisions for seven 
hundred and thirty-one days, and sink to 
Kingyin, seven and a half miles from 
Rangoon, on the Gulf of Mart a ban. I have 
figured out the scale of weights, and I desire 
the dimensions of the caisson to admit of a 
certain thickness on account of the ball of 
flame in the middle of the earth." 

The ironmaster did not wait to hear more ; 
he immediately summoned a porter, and had 
the German professor escorted to the door. 
V* «*-« 

The fellow was mad, of course, stark, staring 
mad ; and yet there was a grain more reason 
in his grotesque conception than most of my 
readers are possibly aware of, 

A caisson is, literally, a box. There are 
various kinds of caissons known to that 
most romantic and intrepid of callings, 
modern engineering, hut the general idea is 
that of a round tin can, turned bottom 
upwards, with a sharp ■* cutting edge." The 
sort the German had in his mind was a 
shaft caisson ; and the principle of Nature 
which would cause it to sink into the earth 
by its own weight and that of su perineum- 
hent ballast or tonnage is precisely the same 
that would cause the gradual subsidence of 
a lofty building if the latter were not fixed 
fir inly upon masonry. In this connection a 
story is told by a well-known engineer of a 
parsimonious Western millionaire who was 
erecting a twenty-eight story building on a 
very narrow plot of ground. He objected, 
he said, to so much money being wasted 
on foundation. 

u What's the good of it ? I ain't afraid of 
my skyscraper blowing over in a tornado ! !l 

" Perl laps not," retorted the builder, " but 

if you refuse that extra twenty thousand 

1*11 take a. .bet voju can walk into your 
Original from 


9 8 


From a} 


twenty-eighth story on the street-level within 
a year ! " 

In other words, it would take twelve 
months for the " cutting edge J3 of the narrow 
steel-framed building to subside into the soil, 
and a month or so more entirely to dis- 

Caissons are now used for pier-butlding, 
for excavating under rivers, and also for the 
support of all hu«e structures whatever ; and 
as we shall see, the life of the caissoniers, or 
compressed-air workers, who toil within them 
is one of the strangtst and 
most trying in the world. 

The caisson I have com- 
pared to a tin can, but; as a 
rule, it is somewhat larger than 
the most generous of house- 
holders could find room for 
in kitchen or scullery- An 
average caisson of the sort 
used in shaft excavations is 
some fifty or sixty feet in 
external diameter, say seventy 
feet high, and is built of steel 
and iron. It has an inner and 
an outer skin, and the space 
between — perhaps five feet — 
is filled with cement These 
" skins n come closer near the 
bottom edge. This sort of 
caisson sinks by its own 
weight, increased by weights 
in cases where the ground is 
stiff or where the desired 
depth is great, until it weighs 

four or five thou- 
sand tons. 

It is in pier- 
building that the 
caisson becomes 
an object of the 
deepest fascina- 
tion, partly be- 
cause it is then 
submerged in that 
treacherous ele- 
ment, water, and 
the lives of the 
" men in the box," 
«,, the caissoniers, 
are in the greatest 
danger. The cais- 
son is lowered into 
the river, and in 
this instance sinks 
not only by reason 
of its own weight, 
but by the potent 
power of compressed air, far below the river's 
bed into the mud and slime, until it strikes 

In such cases, as it sinks, this box, usually 
of wood as well as iron, bears within its 
limited compass — for this caisson may not 
measure above fifteen feet in diameter — 
seven human beings, The caisson is, when 
it is first lowered, completely enclosed, having 
a bottom as well as a roof, but the moment 
it strikes the river-bed, and the cutting-edge 
sinks into the mud, the weights of stone 

by La 






descend upon its roof, the bottom is knocked 
out by the seven men, working by oil Limp, 
torch, or electric light, and thenceforward 
they toil, with thousands of tons of stone 
piling upon them, shut out by a hundred feet 
from Gods air and sunlight. 

The sole connection they have with the 
world in which the rest of us live and breathe 
is a narrow iron 
pipe, through which 
they crawl or are 
borne upwards 
when they have 
finished their 
"shift" of work. It 
is through this pipe 
that the mud and 
rocks which they 
have excavated is 
borne to the surface, 
and through it also 
descends that force 
of air which pre- 
vents the water from 
welling upwards 
through tbemud, fil L 
ing the bottomless 
caisson, and drown- 
ing the hapless 
pressure- workers. 

Compressed air has been 
industrial purposes for sixty years 

From a\ 



use now for 
The first 
time it was used in England was in the con- 
struction of the bridge over the Med way in 
1S50, when air was pumped into a hollow 
caisson to keep the water from flowing in. The 
deeper the caisson sinks the greater degree 
of air pressure is exerted until at last, at a 
depth of looft , these men working inside 
with shovel and pick are living in s are breath- 
ing, what is known to science as "three enormous 
— that is to 
say, the pres- 
sure which is 
defying the 
river to enter 
their little 
submar i n e 
box is also 
pressing on 
their bodies 
to the extent 
of forty - six 
and a ha If 
pounds to the 

As the nor- 
mal pressure 

on the human body is only fifteen pounds to 
the inch it may be asked : How can the e men, 
these caissoniers, not only manage to live and 
work under a pressure of fifty, sixty, and even 
sevowty pounds, yet even at the time be 
ignorant of anything unusual ? The explana- 
tion is to be found in the con struct ion of 
the human frame. If the surface of our 

bodies consisted of 
some perfectly rigid 
substance, and there 
were no means by 
which the external 
pressure could be 
com municated 
equally as well to 
the interior as to 
the exterior, the 
great weight of air 
would doubtless 
crush and destroy ; 
just as if we tike a 
delicate glass globe 
and exhaust the air 
from the inside, the 
ouLside pressure 
will break the glass. 
At the Blackwall 
Tunnel a large 
number of the in- 
candescent electric light globes were broken 
in tlYis way when taken into slightly com- 
pressed air* But, no matter how delicate the 
glass vessel, this will not occur if there exists 
any free communication between the interior 
and exterior and the compressed air can enter 
freely* A pin point pressed on an egg-shell 
will very readily puncture it, but if we apply a 
perfectly evenly distributed pressure to the 
whole surface of the shell it would withstand 
pressures* In like manner the 
pressure on 


Fmrn al 




Original from 

the exterior 
of the human 
body on en- 
tering com- 
pressed air is 
cated directly 
to the air 
within the 
lungs, and 
indirectly to 
the whole of 
the contents 
of the body 
through the 
Some faint 



rats in a trap with 
the awful weight of 
that heaviest and 
most invisible of 
all things, air t 
gradually rising, 
as you sink, from 
forty to fifty, sixty, 
yes, even seventy 
and eighty pounds. 
And t h e n the 
blood thickens 
and turns black ; 
and the heart stops, 
and then when the 
gauge- tender far, 
far above at last 
turns off the super- 
fluous current it is 
too late. Or if he 
has not turned on 
enough air, a new 
staff of pressure- 
workers descend 
to the box and find their ingress blocked by 
water, muddy water, ever rising — rising — 
until it runs a race with them to the summit 
of the tube up which they turn madly to 
escape, A caissonier who has had eleven 
years' experience of pressure- working told the 
writer of one incident which would furnish a 
weird and thrilling scene to Jules Verne. 


From a FkatiK 

presentiment of the time when air will be the 
Ljreat industrial agent of the future when it 
will run our trains, work our engines, lift our 
shipping, and move our vehicles — flashes 
across the mind when one sits in this sinking 
caisson and feels the invisible combat between 
air and water and earth. It is air— cjosely 
packed in this box but it is not air for 
breathing. It is thick enough to cut 
with a knife— nay, would it not dull 
the toughest knife? It is pumped 
in rhythmically, as a pendulum works 
in a clock ; if it he not pumped in 
so, the clock stops, the relentless 
sur^e of waters advances, and the 
men inside the sinking caisson are 
i loomed. They have not even time 
to say their prayers ! 

If a pressure-worker should he 
taken ill in this box, if he is injured 
by a drill or by his comrade's pick 
or by a charge of powder, he must 
crawl to the iron pipe and seek to 
scale its hundred feet. If he fails, 
he drops back into the bottom of the 
caisson to perish in what may truly 
he called u Davy Jones's locker." If 
he succeeds, and emerges into the 
ordinary thin atmosphere too sud- 
denly he will be seized by cram [is, 
by the dread caisson disease, which 
may maim him for life. The pressure 
of three or four atmospheres has 
been removed too abruptly. 

Think of it — being shut up like 

Digitized by Google 



Original from 





Prom ci] 


" There were five 
box when one of 
called out t>at be 
queer with his pick, 
* Bless me if it ain't 
alive,' said he. Wc 
all crept over to see 
what the thing was, 
when it began to 
wriggle and squirm 
all over the caisson 
like a big eel, slip- 
ping one man on the 
belt and squirming 
under another's 
heels. Just then 
Jim's pick again hit 
something; the 
lights went out, and 
we thought he had 
cut the wire, and 
were laughing as 
we clambered up 
towards the air- 
luck, thinking it 

of us," said he, " in the 
my mates named Jim 
had struck something 

was no use working in the dark, But 
just then Jim cried out, ' HeavenSj the 
air-pipe's broke. Run for your lives ! ' 
We ran, like crazy men, up the ladder, 
the water coming after us like a 
freshet I got into the air-lock first 
and another man followed me. But 
the lock-keeper must have lost his 
head, for, without waiting for the 
others, he shut the gates, Perhaps if 
he hadn't done so, all five of us would 
have been drowned, the water rose so 
fast. Anyhow, that was afterwards 
his defence. When the pipe was re- 
paired by a diver and the water forced 
back, the eel, or whatever the thing 
was f was gone from the caisson and 
the bodies of my three mates were 
there instead." 

hi the old days, to the terrors of 
water was added that of fire, because 
the interior of the caisson, being of 
wood and designed for merely tem- 
porary uses, occasionally caught fire 
from the effects of the powder explo- 
sion or one of the torches or lamps. 
It is fortunate that electric lighting 
has greatly diminished if it has not 
entirely abolished this evil. 

After all these terrors it is perhaps 
astonishing to be told that any human 
beings can extract pleasure from such 
an employment, or that caisson ing 
would be sought by any considerable 
number of men. But the truth is that old 
caissoniers in some way Irecome hardened to 
the strain of working in three atmospheres, 

| Phtitu. 

by Oc 








Fromal in the caisson. [/"Auto, 

and can even, in a measure, laugh at caisson- 
disease or " the bends/ 1 It is amazing what 
amount of air- pressure their bodies will 
endure ; some have boasted that they 
have stood a pressure of eighty pounds 
to the inch, As the ordinary pressure is 
fifteen pounds to the inch, thirty pounds 
in excess of this is known as "three 
atmospheres"; and this pressure ensues 
at sixty - five feet below the surface. 
Eighty feet down, the workers in the 
caisson are standing thirty-seven pounds, 
while at one hundred feet the pressure 
is forty-six and a half pounds. Fifty 
pounds is generally regarded as the 
maximum amount that a man can 
endure without being injured, perhaps 
for life, But it all depends, as I have 
said, on the degree of suddenness with 
which the man in the caisson is brought 
into contact with the normal atmosphere 
up above in the airlock. 

In the appended illustrations a shaft 
caisson may be seen in the act of sinking 
by its own weight. In the other illus- 
trations the weights, consisting of iron 
segments, may be seen. One of these 
is of a caisson sunk for the Black wall 
Tunnel, and containing the shield or 
engine for boring under the river. The 
filling of this caisson, drawing the shield 
into it from the dock, and lowering the 

Digitized by GOOQ 

latter to the bottom occupied about five 
days. The caisson itself was sunk close to 
the river-bank, and, the wet sand causing 
great friction, it was found necessary to 
weight it ultimately to such an extent that 
six and a half hundredweight per square 
foot of surface was placed upon the sinking 
caisson. The opening in the side of the 
caisson is for the tunnel to pass through. 

A new use for caissons is to supply the 
foundations for huge buildings in lieu of 
stone. These caissons are of steel and are 
intended to be permanent, for the super- 
structure rests upon thertu They are 
smaller, besides ; much smaller. Never- 
theless, the work is of an adventurous 
character, and the men who go down 
into the bowels of the earth in these 
caissons not only have to encounter 
thick air and to brave caisson - disease, 
but they have often to withstand intense 
heat. But although in caisson! ng there 
rs a little more danger than most men 
seek, yet, on the whole, the lot of the 
men who toil below in the "little boxes'* 
— the pressure -workers — is hardly more 
dangerous, perhaps, than ballooning or 

going to sea in an open boat or tunnelling 

through the Alps, 

fug mm; the pvuib or a boy who has just hMhH(.Ki) 







OW do you think this will 
do T Torquit?" said Irene, 
looking up from a short 
paper she was composing for 
the Girh* (htm Garland on 
u How I Amuse Myself in the 
Holidays," and she proceeded to rtrad aloud : 
"Of course, with so much to occupy us 
we have no time to spend on toys, which, 

Torquil says, are a babyish pursuit " 

14 Except when they're exact models of 
things" corrected Torquil " There's some 
sense in them. But none of our toys are 
models ! * 

Irene accepted the amendment dutifully. 

It took her some little time to get it all 

down, "Would you spell model with two 

*d + s ' or only one ? " she inquired, presently. 

iJ Two, of course," said Torquil "Or 

By F. Anstey, 


else, don't you see, you would have to 
pronounce it 'modle/ But I can't listen to 
any more till I've made up my mind how 
much the Isle of Wight ought to count." 

He was ten and Irene nine, and they were 
sitting opposite one another at the school- 
room table on the top floor of a certain 
London house one afternoon, shortly after 
Christmas. She was engaged in the manner 
already described, while he was copying and 
colouring all the counties of England from 
an atlas before him upon sundry small bits 
of cardboard, 

By-and by he intended to cut them all 
out and play some sort of garni? with them. 
He was not quite sure what, because he had 
not invented more than one or two of the 
rules, but it would be something between 
"snap 15 and '*hfeique," and it would have 
the great merit of teaching you geography* 

It will be guessed from this that both 
children were rather more grown up than 

Copyright, 1903, by George Newnes, Limited. 





many children are at their age. They had 
always been encouraged to take an intelligent 
interest in the world's affairs; their father 
and mother were both serious persons, and 
their governess (or rather Irene's, for Torquil 
now went to a day-school) was a highly- 
educated young lady who had distinguished 
herself at Girton. However, Miss Barlow 
was now away for her holidays, so the 
children were left to their own devices, and, 
as we have seen, were enjoying themselves 
in a creditably quiet and sedate fashion ; in 
fact, possibly because they had had curried 
chicken and roly-poly pudding for dinner, 
they were not feeling so alert as usual. 

I hey vaguely heard the " chink-chink- 
chink" of bells from some vehicle passing 
outside, but they were both too absorbed to 
be disturbed by it. Irene was trying to 
remember how she had meant to end that 
sentence about toys, and Torquil was begin- 
ning to realize that, if he was going to colour 
and cut out every separate county in the 
map of England, it would take a longer time 
than he had calculated. He might do with- 
out cutting them out, but then they wouldn't 
fit in like a puzzle, and it wouldn't make half 
such a good game. 

So they were quite startled when a rich, 
jolly voice from the hearthrug said : " Why, 
how's this? Hard at work? In the holi- 
days, too ! " for they had not even noticed 
that anyone had entered the room. 

Their visitor was nobody they had ever 
seen before ; he was oddly dressed, for 
London, in a big fur cap and driving-gloves, 
and a long green robe edged with fur. He 
had a ruddy, weather-beaten face, with a 
white beard, and the eyes under his heavy 
white eyebrows were blue and sparkling. 

" You don't mean to say you've been 
naughty?" he said, but in a tone that showed 
that he would not be greatly shocked if they 

" We're not very often naughty," said 
Irene, "and we're not working— we're amus- 
ing ourselves." 

" So thats your idea of amusing yourselves, 
is it ? " said the stranger, after he had looked 
over their shoulders. " Of course," he added, 
" you've guessed who /am." 

" I'm not quite sure," said Irene, " but I 
expect you're one of our uncles, dressed up as 
Father Christmas." 

" Father Christmas indeed ! Why, I'm 
Santa Gnus." 

44 Well, whoever you are," said Torquil, 
" we're not a bit frightened, you know." 

II Frightened ! Of course not. As if any 

Digitized by \jt 

good children could be afraid of old Santa 
Claus, who brings all the toys, and comes 
down the chimneys on Christmas Eve and 
fills your stockings ! " 

" Not ours" said Torquil " We don't 
hang them out. Mother doesn't approve of 
our being encouraged to believe things that 
aren't true. And it isn't Christmas Eve 

" That's true. But, you see, I've been 
driving round leaving presents for all the 
children who were not good enough to have 
theirs at the proper time. Don't you hear 
my reindeer shaking their bells on the roof ? " 

" We hear bells," said Torquil, u but then 
lots of hansom cab-horses have them" 

" Cab-horses don't run along the roofs," 
remarked the stranger. 

" No more do reindeer/' replied Torquil. 
" And you can't have come down the 
chimney this time because there's a fire." 

" And, anyhow, you'd be all covered with 
soot," added Irene. 

The visitor seemed to feel that they were 
having the best of it so far. " I see," he 
said, " you are uncommonly clever children. 
Too clever to believe in me> at all events ! " 

" We don't believe you're Santa Claus 
really, because Miss Barlow says there's no 
such person," said Irene. 

"Oh, of course, if Miss Barlow says so. 
But answer me as if I really was Santa Claus. 
Haven't you any toys ? " 

" Oh, lots ! " said Irene. " I've got a dolls' 
house, and a farm, and a Noah's ark, and 
any amount of dolls ; and Torquil has quan- 
tities of soldiers, and a theatre, and a grocer's 
shop, and all sorts of clockwork things." 

" People will go on giving us them ! " 
explained Torquil, in rather an aggrieved 

" And where are all these toys ? " 

" In the day nursery, somewhere," said 

" Do you play with them every day ? " 

" Well, no— not exactly every day/' 

" When did you play with them last ? " 

" I forget," said Irene, "it's so long ago. 
You see," she explained, "Torquil doesn't care 
for toys, and I can't very well play with them 
all by myself." 

41 And so all this time they've been 
neglected ? " 

" Oh, no— they're all right. They're put 
away most carefully, and they're nearly vis 
good as new— except the mechanical tumbler 
we took all the quicksilver out of." 

"To make a looking-glass with." put in 
Torquil, '' only -, a jtf wouldn't stick. We 



io 5 

found out what made him turn head over 
beds downstairs, though." 

"Ah," said the stranger, "I felt sure the 
toys here were not being properly played 
wiih. I could tell from the way the smoke 
was coming out of the nursery chimney. So 
I thought Td stop and look into it. Has it 
never occurred to you," he went on, gravely, 
"that toys have fatten created to be played 
with— not to lie put on the shelf and taken 
no notice of? Oblige me by going into the 
nursery at once and playing with them. 11 

hl We can't go now/ 1 said Torquil, M we're 
too busy — we are really" 

M Nonsense ! It will do the toys good, 
and do you good too. Come, be off with 


t " 

*• Would you mind going away and not 
bothering?" said Irene, in a politely lon^* 
suffering tone. * b I suppose this is amusing 
yeu % but we don 1 ! think it 
at all funny." 

t4 At least, you can tell 
me w Ay you refuse to go in 
and play with the poor 
toys?" Santa Glaus insisted, 

44 Because/' replied Tor- 
quil t " if you really want to 
know, we 1 re a good deal too 
big for that sort of thing 

" Why, so you are/' said 
the visitor, " to be sure. I 
forgot that Shut your 
eves tight" 

'"Why?" asked 

4t Because I tell 
you to," was the 
answer, and both 
the children shut 
their eyes promptly; 
the stranger might 
l*e going to give 
them a present— he 
was queer enough 
for anything. 
"Open your eyes!" 
commanded their 
visitor, and thev 
obeyed — to find 
themselves perched 

on the very edge of their chairs a long way 
from the carpet, and only just able to see each 
other's heads across an immense stretch of 
tablecloth. At first they could not imagine why 
the table and the tumbler of water, and the 
colour-box and inkstand, had all grown so 
enormous ; but the next moment they saw 

the reason. The change was m themselves ; 
they had suddenly become no bigger than 
middle-sized dolls ! 

" Oh ! " they both cried, in dismay. " Then 
it really is Santa Glaus after all 1 tt 

"If you hadn't been quite so clever/ 5 said 
Santa Glaus, " you would have recognised me 
at once. Now, you see, you are about the 
same size as your toys, so you will be able to 
play with them all the more easily, on equal 

"But we y//rt'«V/ u protested TorquiL 
"Vou forget that you've made us too small 
to take them out of their boxes even— and 
we're not nearly strong enough to set them 
up ! " 

M We never meant that we were too big in 
size, Santa Glaus," urged Irene. M Please put 
us back again as we were, and we will go in 
and play with them. We promise. 1 * 

VaJ + jciv.-^W-. 

by VjC 


"We can't even get down from our chairs 
like we are," added Torquil. 

But Santa Claus only lifted them both 
very gently and set them down on the carpet, 

"I can't stay with you any longer/' he 

said, opening the door. " Now run away 

into your nursery and enjoy yourselves with 

the toys. You will find them all out of their 

boxes already. 13 

rigmal from 




With that Santa Claus disappeared, whether 
up the chimney or not they could not see; but 
presently, as they stood forlornly on the 
threshold, they heard a cheerful jingle over- 
head, as if the reindeer were delighted to be 
off again. 

" It's too bad of him to go and leave us like 
this !" said Irene, half crying. "I do think 
Santa Claus is a most disagreeable person ! " 

" It shows there are some things Miss 
Barlow doesn't know," said Torquil. " But 
Santa Claus may say what he likes. I m not 
going in to play with the beastly toys ! " The 
bells chinked more shrilly and nearer again, 
as if the sleigh had turned back. " At least," 
continued Torquil, hastily, " only till tea- 

hi Oh, what is the use of talking about tea ? " 
cried Irene; " they'll never be able to cut 
bread and butter thin enough for us now ! " 
By this time they were out of the schoolroom 
and Torquil, who had hurried on towards a 
row of tall pillars in front, came back looking 

" It was lucky I looked down," he said, 
u or I should have walked right over the edge 
of the landing —those big things are the 
banisters. I say, couldn't we get downstairs 
to the drawing-room and tell mother ? " 

" It would take so long," objected Irene, 
" and then nurse or Jane or somebody might 
come upstairs and tread on us without 
noticing. Besides,, even mother couldn't do 
anything ! " 

" No, and there might be visitors calling," 
agreed Torquil ; " and we should feel so 
funny coming in as we are. I suppose we'd 
better do as Santa Claus told us, after all." 

And he led the way towards the green 
nursery door, which was so high that they 
could not see the top without cricking their 
necks. " There's atwther thing Santa Claus 
forgot ! " said Irene, with some satisfaction. 
" How are we going to open the door when 
the handle's all that way up ?" 

44 He's thought of that," said Torquil, 
gloomily ; " it's ajar." 

" We shall never be able to lift all those 
heavy tin soldiers of yours," complained 
Irene ; " and we shall get so tired ! " 

" We must do the best we can," said 
Torquil. "Then, when Santa Claus comes 
back, we can tell him we tried, else he may 
keep us like this always, you know. Come 
along and play." 

And he squeezed himself through the 
narrow opening first, and Irene followed, 
neither of them at all in the humour for play 
of any kind. 

Digitized by GoOQle 



Except that the ceiling was infinitely 
higher, and the walls, windows, and furniture 
all seemed a long way off and very much 
larger, the nursery looked unchanged. 

Away across the thick, soft drugget Tor- 
quil and Irene made out several objects that, 
in spite of their greatly increased size, they 
knew must be some of the toys they had 
not played with for so long. 

There was a tall red and white mansion 
which Irene recognised as her dolls' house. 
It was a most superior one, with a staircase 
and doors to every room, but she seldom 
looked into it, naving found that, when the 
furniture was once put in its place, there was 
nothing more to be done with it. 

Close by was the toy theatre, with its 
green glazed calico curtain down. When he 
first had it Torquil had rather liked lighting 
the footlights, winding the curtain up and 
down, and changing the scenery, but the 
play that came with it was too stupid and 
old-fashioned to be worth performing, par- 
ticularly with cardboard characters which 
required to be changed whenever they had 
to strike a fresh attitude. 

A little farther on were the market, the 
livery stables, the infant school, the Noah's 
ark, the clockwork railway, and several other 
things which he — and Irene, too, under his 
influence— had long ago voted too babyish 
and unlike what they professed to be to be 
played with by persons with any regard for 
their own dignity. And it puzzled them to 
think how they could possibly play with 
them now. 

" Torquil," whispered Irene, " isn't that 
one of your wooden soldiers over there ? 
He's nearly as tall as us now, though." 

Torquil lookecj round and saw a wooden 
Grenadier on a round stand, stiffly shouldering 
a bright pink musket. He had a shiny black 
hat, with a yellow half-circle in front, a 
scarlet body shaped exactly like an urn, 
bright blue trousers, and no trace of any feet. 

" He's out of a box Aunt Margery gave 
me when I was quite a kid," said Torquil, 
eyeing him with no great favour. " I'm not 
going to play with Aim, anyhow." 

"But he's alive /" said Irene, with a little 
gasp. "At least, he's -yioving* I do believe 
he's coming to play witft /*.*/" 

And there was no doubt that the wooden 
soldier was slowly shuffling towards them. 
W ? hen he came nearer he called out " Halt ! " 
which might have been alarming, seeing that 
he was the very last kind of toy one would 




have expected to hear any sound from. But 
this warrior's voice was so high and creaky, 
he had such a slight suggestion of a nose and 
such Httle dots of eyes, that the effect was 
not particularly terrifying. 

It was odd f to be sure, that anyone with a 
mouth that was a mere dab could speak at 
all ; but, after all, that was his affair, and if 
all the toys were able to move about and 
talk it would certainly 
make it easier to play with 

The moment they stop- 
ped the soldier squeaked 
41 Halt ! J ' once more, 

4i We can' t halt any 
more than we arc halting, 
you know," said TorquiL 
w What is it you do want ? w 

" I said ''Halt, 31 ' said 
the wooden soldier, slowly, 
"because that's what sen- 
tries say, Fm a sentry." 

in your pocket," said Torquil. ** You're a 
pretty sentry not to know that I " 

"You should see the Captin," said the 
sentry ; " he's prettier than me by a long 
way* He's got a sword ! " 

41 But don't you really know what a counter- 
sign is ? " 

11 I suppose," said the sentry, doubtfully, 
" it'll be a animal o* some sort ? M 


11 If you're going to play at sentries," said 
Torquil, " you may as well do it properly ■." 

"I am doin* of it properly," said the sentry, 
" Halt ! " 

41 No, no," Torquil corrected* " Next you 
ask us to give you the countersign." 

"You must lend me a pocket first to 
put it in, then/' said the sentry, ** My 
uniform ain't got no pockets/ 1 

** A countersign isn't a thing you can put 

Digitized b/ ( 

One of Torquil*! 

uncles was a soldier, 
so he was rather an 
authority on military 

11 It's a word," he 
explained. " Any- 
thing will do. Sup- 
pose we say the coun- 
tersign is * coffee- 
pot * ? " 

"/ don't mind!" 

said the soldier "A 

tin cawly-pot or a 

wooden one ? " 

i( What does that matter ? It isn't a real 

coffee-pot ! w 

** Oh t * said the soldier, 
nearly disappearing into his 
it won't pour out, will it ? 

" But I tell you it isn't a thing at all ! " 
said Torquil, losing all patience, ( * We only 
sav 'coffee-pot' because it's the countersign. 
Thenjw say * Pass, friends* and all's well ! ,rt 


his little eyes 

head fti Then 

Still, hand it 



u It ain't all well if you haven't got no 
cawfy-pot," replied the wooden soldier. 

" I'm only trying to show you how to play, 
as you don't seem to know much about it," 
said Torquil, 

41 I've no time to play. Tve too much 
work to do, / have ! " said the sentry. 

"What work do you do? 3t Torquil asked. 

'* It's hard work, /can tell you, shoulder 
ing this here gun mornin 1 , noon, and night," 

"But what's the good of shouldering it? 
It won't go off/' 

" It can't gooff," replied the soldier, squint- 
ing down at the butt. " It's glued on too 
tight for that." 

fi I mean, it hasn't got a trigger or a barrel 
— you couldn't shoot anybody with it." 

" I never want to shoot nobody," said the 
wooden soldier, "so it's good enough for me" 

"Are all the others as st I mean, 

like you 7 " inquired Irene. 

"They do say I'm the brightest and 
smartest of the lot," replied the sentry. 
"But then I've been more careful of my 
varnish, or there was more of it, I dun no 

"There must be somebody here who can 
talk sense," said Torquil, in despair. 
" Isn't there ? " 

"There's the Prime Minister — the 
Lord High 
Ackerobat, you 
know — he talks 
sense, leastwise, 
so I'm told. And 
he could turn 
head over heels 
all down a flight 
of steps once — 
his ' career,* as 
they call it. Won- 
derful head he 
has ! " 

"Well, we 
might just go and 
see him," said 
Irene. 4t Where 
is he ? n 

"Sitting over 
there, on the 
bottom step of 
his career. Look 
here, I'll come 
along and intro- 
duce you to him." 

" No, you needn't 
said Irene, hurriedly, 

" No trouble at all 

u If you were a real sentinel," said Torquil, 
41 you'd be punished if you deserted your 

11 Then it's your opinion as I'd better stay 
where I am ? " he asked. 

" Much better ! " said Irene, very decidedly. 
" We can find the way quite well for our- 

"Of all the silly idiots I ever met," re- 
marked Torquil, as they went on, " that 
sentry is the very silliest ! " 

" Yes," said Irene, " Tm glad we got 
out of being introduced by him. Though, 
after all," she added, " I suppose it's rather 
wonderful for a wooden soldier to have sense 
enough to be even an idiot" 

u I don't see why we should be expected 
to play with idiots," said Torquil "Look ! 
That must be the Lord High Acrobat, Irene, 
and I suppose those steps are his 'career/ 
It is the tumbler Cousin Alice gave us— the 
one we took all the quicksilver out of. He's 
not much like a Lord High Anything \ " 

The tumbler had already seen them and 
risen to meet them. They had always 
thought him a quaint-looking figure, with his 
narrow, salmon-pink face (which had only a 

trouble, thank you," 

said he. 

nothing particular to do." 

3 y Google 


shade more expression than that oF a 
monkey on a stick), his thin arms and 
broad, flat hands, and bent legs ending 
in feet which stuck out as much behind 
as before, like a towel-horse's ; but now that 
he was as tall as themselves he naturally 
seemed quainter-looking than ever. 

He was dressed in a kind of bathing 

..■riqinal from ° 




cost u me of bright emerald green, with a sort 
of apron and square cap of crimson, and he 
advanced towards them with little hops and 
slides, iike a great, ugly bird* 

t; May I ask," he began, "who you are 
and what is your business in these parts ?" 

Irene, rather relieved to find that he did 
m»L appear to recognise them, explained that 
I hey had been sent in by Santa Ctaus, and 
that the wooden sentry had told them that 
the Lord High Acrobat was a person of great 

" No ! " said the Lord High Acrobat ; " did 
he really* though ? That was very kind 
of him — vt ry kind indeed ! But he's a re 
nwkably intelligent fellow, I dare say you 
noticed it/' 

"We didn't have tnuch talk with him," said 
Irene, feeling suddenly inclined to laugh. 

* ; Oh y he's very sharp. In fact," said the 
Lord High Acrobat, meditatively, " I've 
serious thoughts of making him a General. 7 
And he peered at them as if to see what 
they thought of the idea. 

" That would be rather sudden from being 
only a private," said Torquil. "And don't 
generate have to ride on horseback ? w 

"Oh, there's an india-rubber horse he 
could havv. as far as that goes. It's lost 
most of its wind, but he wouldn't mind 
that," said the Lord 
High Acrobat. 

" But how could he 
get on it, when his legs 
are just a solid block?" 

"He could lead it 
about, and no one 
would know that he 
hadn't just got off. 
However, it certainly 
is a drawback, I must 
think about it. As 
Prime Minister," he 
said, importantly, " I 
have a great deal to 
think about" 

"You mean things 
like politics, I sup- 
pose ? " said Torquil: 

"I £$uid think 
about politics too, I 
dare say 5 if I knew 
what they were." 

"Why, politics " 

began Torquil, and 
then he found that he 
wasn't very clear him- 
self what politics were 

11 They Ve the things Prime Ministers have 
to manage. 1 ' 

u Then I've no doubt I've managed thorn 
in my time. I used to be very energetic. 
You see this career of mine — four steps and 
a little drawer underneath to retire to ? 
Well, you'll hardly believe it, but in my prime 
I thought nothing of standing on the pedestal 
at the top and turning back somersaults down 
to the bottom. I can't do it nou\ though. 
Why\ is more than I can tell you/' 

Torquil and Irene could have told him, 
but they thought, on the whole, they had 
better not. 

"And so you are recommended here," he 
continued, "by our old friend and patron, 
Santa Claus. But for him we should none 
of us be where we are now, and I have 
much pleasure in welcoming you - not only 
on my own behalf, but in the name of my 
most gracious Sovereign lady, the Queen." 

u So you've a Qu&en here ? Ji said Irene, 
with more interest. 

" I should think so," said the Prime 
Minister, u and a grand Queen she is ! Why, 
she can shut her eyes whenever she lies down, 
and she's taller than any of us. hear me!" 
he broke off, looking round, " Here comes 
Her Majesty out for a walk, with ah the 
Court ! It's the first time I've ever known 

kek majesty out run a 

by ^OOgle 

Original from 



her to take any exercise. If she should con- 
descend to speak to you, don't be too over- 
awed ! " 

And, either from respect or because he lost 
his balance, he suddenly threw himself for- 
ward on his hands, as the Queen approached 
with a kind of majestic toddle, followed by a 
train of courtiers and maids of honour. 

Irene was not in the least overawed. Why 
should she be, when the Queen was only her 
best doll Clementina? If it pleased her to 
pretend to be a Queen, she must ; but Irene 
felt rather ashamed that any doll of hers 
should make such an exhibition of herself, 
especially before Torquil, who she knew had 
but a poor opinion of dolls already. 

For poor Clementina's Court was a very 
queer one indeed. The ladies composing it 
were chiefly Dutch, with a sprinkling of 
china and composition dolls, none of them 
remarkable for personal beauty. As for the 
courtiers, they were simply ordinary ninepins. 
Or, rather, not quite ordinary, for they were 
less stiff than the rest of their kind. They 
bent their long necks with deferential courtesy 
to their partners as they shuffled by their 
sides, and each of their round heads, which 
had even less features and expression than 
the wooden sentry's, wore a shadowy but 
amiable simper. 

Clementina evidently did not recognise 
Irene any more than the others had done, 
but this was only natural, as it was a long 
time since she had seen her, and, besides, 
Irene was now smaller than Clementina. 
But she was most gracious as soon as the 
Lord High Acrobat (who was upright again) 
presented the children as friends of Santa 

44 Isn't Santa Claus a dear, kind old 
gentleman?" she said. <4 Aren't you very 
fond of him?" 

It was as well, perhaps, that she did not 
wait for their reply. 44 I'm Queen here," she 
informed them. " I don't know why— 
except that I'm taller, and cleverer, and more 
beautiful than all the others, and the only 
one that can shut my eyes. But I'm not at 
all proud, and you mustn't be in the least 
afraid of me. I'm sure we shall be tre- 
mendous friends. Do tell me your names ?" 

44 Oh, tliose won't do at all," she cried, 
when she had heard them. u I must invent 
some really nice names for you. Keep 
quite still everybody, while I think." 

And the whole Court waited expectantly 
while she closed her eyes. 

44 I've done ! " she announced, at last. 
" They're such beauties ! You," she said, to 

Irene, " shall be ' Buffidella,' and you," she 
added, to Torquil, 4t shall be 4 Chipsitop.' 
There now I" 

4i What readiness ! " exclaimed all the 
Ninepins, wagging their bulbs of heads. 
44 What extraordinary powers of invention !" 

44 And so suitable, too," added the Dolls of 

44 1 cannot imagine," cried the Lord High 
Acrobat, 44 how your Majesty can think ot 
such things ! " 

44 Of course you can't," said the Queen, 
44 when I hardly know myself. I shut my 
eyes, and suddenly the names came. And I 
give them to you," she added to Torquil and 
Irene ; 44 they're your very own— to keep ! " 

44 What queenly generosity ! " chorussed 
the Ninepins, 44 to give away two such names 
as that ! " 

44 They ought to be grateful ; indeed, they 
ought ! " the Dolls of honour declared. 

Privately Irene thought her own name 
much nicer, and she did not dare to look at 
Torquil, for she guessed what he must be 
feeling. And, indeed, Torquil was fuming 
secretly at being called 44 Chipsitop," which 
he probably considered 4< just the sort of 
duffing name a doll would think of." 

44 Of course, you must come to the Royal 
high tea to-night," Clementina babbled on. 
44 Or, as it's such a special occasion, suppose 
we call it a State banquet and have out the 
best Britannia metal service, and be as 
grand as possible ! And—/ know — we'll 
have a Court ball afterwards. We all seem 
so lively and active, somehow, that we're 
sure to enjoy ourselves ! " 

44 I'm afraid," said Irene, "that we're 
neither of us dressed for a party " ( 44 and we 
couldn't put on our party things now if we 
had them ! " she thought to herself with a 

" Oh, that's of no consequence," said 
Clementina ; 4< I shall go dressed as I am, 
and so will everybody. But you must have 
somewhere to live in. You'd better stay at 
the palace," and she pointed to the red and 
white dolls' house. 44 1 never use it myself, 
because I'm a little too big for it, and I 
prefer the drawer. But I'll tell the Caretaker 
Royal to see that you're comfortable." 

And she waddled away smiling, and the 
Court followed her. 

44 1 suppose," said Irene, " we'd better go 
and ask to see our rooms. As it's going to 
be a State banquet we ought at least to wash 
our hands for it." 

44 1 don't see why? grumbled Torquil ; " I 
bet none of tfiem will ! " 

by LiOOgLC 

H 1 1 I u I I I ■_' 



ii i 

However, he consented to go to the dolls' 
house, and they were admitted by the Care- 
taker Royal, who was, as a matter of fact, 
the gentleman doll. Irene knew him at 
once by his neat little china head with its 
fair hair (not real hair, but painted) parted 
down the middle, his black velvet coat and 
green bow, his shirt front with a very large 
gilt stud in it, and check trousers. 

" With the baby ! " exclaimed Irene, and 
rushed into the nursery to rescue the un- 
happy infant. 

To her horror the kettle was in the cradle, 
but the baby didn't seem to be incon- 
venienced by it, perhaps because the kettle 
was quite cold. " Very odd ! " said the 
Caretaker, when she called his attention to 
the fact ; " it was boiling when it was bought. 


"'very odd!' said the caretaker." 

It was a new and curious experience to 
find herself being shown up the stairs of her 
own dolls' house, which was in a wofully 
dusty state. She and Torquil were given 
two rooms on the top floor, the nursery and 
the bedroom, both extremely untidy. " I 
remember now," thought Irene, " those two 
little Grahams were playing with it that after- 
noon they came to tea." 

"Rut there's a nice fire in each room," 
said the Caretaker Royal. 

" Could we have a little hot water ? " 
Irene asked. 

" Certainly," said the Caretaker Royal. 
" There's a kettle somewhere, and it's prob- 
ably boiling. I think you'll find it in the 
cradle with the baby." 

Digitized by Google 

I knmv. Why not try putting it on the fire ? 
I fancy you can make a kettle boil that way, 

" Not on this fire," said Torquil, " because, 
you see, it's only red tinsel." 

" It does very well for a fire," replied the 
Caretaker Royal, "and I shouldn't be sur- 
prised if, when you've put the kettle on, you 
got something that will do very well for hot 

Then, after courteously begging them to 

let him know if there was anything else 

they required, he bowed himself out, and 

they heard him falling down two flights of 

stairs in a quiet, unassuming manner, as a 

gentleman should. 

Tlu-v had to ■ do, -without washing their 
Original from 




hands after all, for there was no cold water 
even, nor soap, nor towels. 

41 Well," said Torquil, disgustedly, as he 
went to the nursery window, 44 if this is what 
Santa Claus calls 4 playing with our toys/ I 
wish he'd mind his own business ! " 

44 1 wouldn't lean too hard against the wall 
if I were you," said Irene. 44 I'm almost sure 
those Graham children forgot to fasten the 
hook. It is rather queer being here like this, 
isn't it?" 

44 Queer ? It's downright beastly ! " said 
Torquil. 44 Why, these things seem to think 
they're just the same as us. And they're all 
so jolly ^illy ! " 

44 They can't help it, I suppose," said Irene. 
44 We must be as nice to them as we can." 

44 1 don't see why I should be nice to a 
Ninepin !'* grumbled Torquil. "And then, 
that Clementina of yours ! The calm cheek 
of her telling us she's Queen here, and call- 
ing me 4 Chipsitop ! ' " 

' 44 I know. And me 'Buffidella!'" said 
Irene, hardly knowing whether to laugh or to 
cry. " Still, we must put up with it as long 
as we can. And, after all, there's the 

44 Yes, there's that. I don't mind how 
silly they are if they'll only give us some 
decent grub. I'm getting hungry. But what 
will they give us, do you suppose ? " 

44 1 don't know. But they wouldn't call it 
a banquet if there wasn't plenty to eat and 
drink, would they ? " 

44 Oh, you never know— with dolls !" said 
Torquil, gloomily ; and just then the Care- 
taker Royal tumbled upstairs to announce 
that a guard of honour had called to escort 
them to the banqueting-hall. 

So they went down and found the chief 
Ninepin (who was distinguished by having a 
small knob on the top of his head) waiting 
for them with four wooden soldiers, so like 
their friend the sentry that for all they knew 
he might be one of them. 

41 Allow me to conduct you to the Royal 
table ! " said the chief Ninepin, ceremoniously ; 
and they followed him, with two wooden 
soldiers stumping along on either side of 

44 Do you know, my dear young friends," 

remarked the Ninepin, as he led the way, 
44 that you may consider yourselves highly 
favoured — very highly favoured indeed ? " 

44 May we ? " said Torquil, who rather 
resented being addressed by a Ninepin as his 
44 dear young friend." " Why ? " 

44 Because," the Ninepin replied, very 
solemnly, 4< this is the very first time Her 
Majesty has ever had a banquet for anybody. 
And it's the best dinner-service, too ! " 

44 Oh ! " said Torquil, without showing any 
signs of being impressed. " But what is 
there going to be to eat?" 

44 What is there going to be to eat ? " said 
the Ninepin. 44 Why, the banquet ! " 

44 Will there be roast turkey and plum- 
pudding and mince-pies ? " asked Torquil. 

44 That's not what /should call a banquet," 
sad the Ninepin. 

"Well, what would you call a banquet?" 

The Ninepin considered a little. "I 
should call it a banquet" he said at last, and 
seemed to think that settled the question. 
44 1 hope," he added, with some anxiety, 
44 that you both know how to sit at table— it 
would be so awkward if you didn't." 

"This isn't the first time we've been to a 
party ! " replied Torquil, with his nose in the 
air. " I dare say we shall do it quite as well 
as you" 

44 You must try and do it better" said the 
Ninepin, "a great deal better. Because, you 
see, /can't sit down at all" 

44 I'm glad of that," whispered Irene to 
Torquil. " I was so afraid I might have to 
sit next\\\vb) and I knoiv I should laugh if he 
talked to me much." 

44 / shouldn't," said Torquil, who was not 
so ready as Irene to see the comic side of 
things. "I should tell him to shut his 
stupid head." 

Here the Ninepin looked round. " Prepare 
yourselves," he said. " We are now about to 
enter the banqueting-hall. You will naturally 
feel a little nervous at first, but that won't 
matter so long as you're not too shy to 
answer the Queen when she speaks to you." 

44 Thank you," said Irene, demurely, " I 
don't think we shall be so shy as all that" 

And with this she and Torquil prepared to 
follow their conductor into the hall. 

(7o be continued.) 

by Google 

Original from 

The Logan Rock. 


By Percy Collins. 

V— 4-V 

\ w 

N the opinion of many capable 
judges, the parish of St Levan, 
in Cornwall, exceeds every 
other parish in the cuunty for 
bold and romantic scenery. 
Chief amongst its attractions 
is the magnificent headland known as 
Trereen Dinas, or, in the present idiom of 
the country. Castle Treryn. This promon- 
tory juts out into the sea in a succession of 
huge granite towers and obelisks; and at 
tKe summit of one of these massive piles 
rests what is perhaps the most remarkable 
natural monument in England — the far- 
famed Logan Rock. 

The early record of this immense block of 
granite is shrouded in the mists of prehistoric 
times. Learned authorities have speculated 

incredible as it may seem, this vast rock, 
probably weighing about ninety tons, was 
one day hurled from its place by the unaided 
efforts of a British Naval officer and a few of 
his jolly tars, 

A century ago the Logan, or Rocking, 
Stone was remarkable for the ease with 
which its vast bulk might be swayed to 
and fro* So accurate was its poise that a 
hand- push was sufficient to set it in motion. 
Yet its shape was so well adjusted to the 
rocky platform on which it rested that no 
amount of rocking permanently affected its 

In these old days it was the boast of 
enthusiastic Cornishmen that for all its easy 
motion the overthrow of the Logan by fair 
means was an impossibility. Dr. Borlase, 


From an Old Print in pouttsi&n tif the Author. 

upon its possible religious origin. Upon its 
hoary summit Druid priests may have per- 
formed the awful rite of human sacrifice. 
But modern interest centres chiefly about 
the authentic history of the Logan- For, 

in particular, went so far as to say of the 
stone that " the extremities of its base are at 
such a distance from each other, and so well 
secured by their nearness to the stone which 

" "^nMmmM n,ora,ly 



impossible that any lever or, indeed, force 
(however applied in a mechanical way) can 
remove it from its present situation." 

Now, at that time, in the interests of 
fishing and excise, a sloop of war was 
stationed off the Cornish coast. The vessel 
was commanded by a young officer of good 
family, and these overstrong expressions as 
to the stability of the T,ogan seem to have 

Thus, then, was the Logan overthrown. 
The gallant officer had achieved what had 
been declared impossible by the highest 
authority that Cornwall could produce. But 
whatever may have been his feelings of 
satisfaction they must have been seriously 
damped by the manner in which the news of 
his exploit was received by the populace* 

The Logan Rock constituted the chief 


From on 014 Prim, ptahvrvtptarf by R, ff r Ptotfm, Pennmas^ 

piqued this young man's vanity. Perhaps he 
judged it a reflection upon the prowess of 
the British Navy that the word "impossible'* 
should be voiced in the hearing of its local 
representative. Be that as it may, it is cer- 
tain that on the 8th day of April, 1824, he 
assembled a dozen of his seamen, and 
landed at Castle Treryn with the intention 
of showing the good people of Cornwall 
what the British Navy could do. 

By the application of their united strength 
the seamen threw the Logan into such ex- 
treme oscillations that the giant rock at last 
slid from its horizontal base and thundered 
into a chasm below. But for this fortunate 
check in its wild plunge, it would have been 
precipitated into the sea* ' 

attraction of the district, and the villagers of 
Treryn derived no small part of their sub- 
sistence from ading as guides to tourists and 
sightseers. The loss of the rock meant to 
many of them the loss of a livelihood Small 
wonder, then> that popular feeling ran high. 
Threats were whispered, fears began to be 
entertained for the , lieutenant's life, and 
eventually a meeting of the magistrates and 
landed proprietors was called with a view to 
representing the affair to the Government, 

But the lieutenant was an honourable and 
worthy man* Filled with remorse at the 
mischief occasioned by his thoughtless act, 
he resolved — if the feat were possible— to 
replace the Logan at no matter what personal 





Through the agency of influential friends 
his case was placed before the Lords of the 
Admiralty, with the result that a loan of 
machinery was obtained from Devon port 
Dockyard. A public subscription was also 
instituted, and the work of replacement was 
commenced in earnest. 

The undertaking proved even more arduous 

flags and handkerchiefs* men shouted and 
fired /r/^r dejoie; and with these evidences of 
popular rejoicing the Logan was placed in its 
old position, to the satisfaction of all con- 

But the old rocking proclivities, on which 
its historic fame rested, proved to be sadly 
diminished. The central point on which 

From a Photo, bit] 


[H. H. Fritton? PenwHvx, 

than had been anticipated. A small army of 
labourers were assembled on the spot- No 
fewer than thirteen capstans, innumerable 
chains and blocks, and a veritable forest of 
scaffolding were applied* Yet it was not 
until the second day of November that the 
Logan was at length swung kirk to its 
original resting-place* 

The final scene of this interesting operation 
was witnessed by thousands of spectators 
from all parts of the country. Women waved 

the rock stood had become much worn. 
Perhaps, too, there may have been some slight 
alteration in its position. In any case, it is p. 
fact that, whereas in the old days a touch 
would set the I^ogan swinging, it now needs 
the concentrated effort cf a strong man to 
stir it. 

An interesting point in connection with 
the history is that the officer responsible for 
the overthrow of the Logan was Lieutenant 
Goldsmith — nephew of the poet. 

by Google 

Original from 


[ We shaft be glad to receive Contributions to this section^ and to pay fin- suck as are acctptta, J 














— - COAL 




12 0? 






9 i* 














12 so 






adapted to his novel 
purpose with great 
ingenuity- The fun* 
nets are drain -pi pes, 
painted regulation 
Imff; I he fighting- 
lops on the masts are 
ordinary tin basins ; 
the guns are wood, 
an d t he su perst r u c t u re 
canvas. K very thing 
is w on d er fu t ly com ■ 
pi etc, even to the 
ram Ikjw. She was 
no dummy warship, 
for her constructor 
could stow himself in 
the interior and fire 
a Royal saute (of 
rockets} with the 
proudest ship in the 
Navy/'— Mr. J. T„ 
Moore, 67, Kg] an tine 
Avenue, Helfast. 

( * Here is an amusing post -card which I picked up 
in Yokohama. Mr. K + Morikawa is an enterprising 
gentleman, and has had cards such as the one I send 
printed and distributed broadcast among English- 
spcaking residents in the tcjwn. The * English as she 
is wrote 1 is decidedly quaint."— Mr, Henry Russell, 
P.O. Box Sz, Yokohama. 

'*This warship w r as constructed hy a coastguards- 
man on the Helen's Bay station, co + Down, in 
honour of the Coronation. The materials were 

A NEW "GAME + '| 
" Have your readers heard of a new game started 
since the South African War? All that is required is 
a fair-si/t'd ^ank-n with plenty of corners. The 
competitors — usually two— are armed with revolvers 
loaded with cartridges, the hall Ixring replaced with 
pellets of flour or chalk. The game consists in the 
art of taking cover, and the winner is the man who 
obtains j or rather receives, the Ifast nnmlier of murks ! 
In the illustration the top man is obviously more 
exposed ihnn the lower, w r ho p however, has to use his 
left band.^Mr. G. M. Lowe, Castle Hill f louse, 

Lincoln. Original from 
am*. ,»„ by &«,. fiinragrtfoi: MICHIGAN 



grasp. He was then hauled out, and quickly marched 
off to the police - station. The policemen had 
retired, and were waiting for him at the lop of 
the landing-stage, behind the men who are pulling 
out the fugitive* This cur ions incident took place 
at Liverpool/'— Mr. R. II. BrinLon Bmler, 3 f Grove 
Road, Lcytonslone. 


44 On the 2jLh day of November, 1901, the U.S. 
transport Wright ran full speed on an uncharted 
reef off the coast of Samar, and immediately filled 
and sank to about ihe level of her main deck. While 
waiting for a wrecking outfit to arrive from the 
Cavit£ Navy Yard, our second assistant engineer, Mr« 
Jaraes R Harlow, improvised a diving-suit, using 
a hinnacle cover for ihe helmet and an ordinary 
brake deck pump for an air pump. The air was 
supplied to the helmet by a fifty -foot length of one- 
inch hose, connected with the pump by reducers 
and to a fitting brazed into the 
helmet. The - e uit was success- 
fully used and the damage to 
the ship's bottom located before 
the arrival of the wrecking outfit, 
which subsequently raised the 
vessel. The photograph of Mr. 
Harlow and his unique diving- 
Miit was taken after the ship had 
lieen raised and towed to Manila* 
PX**— j. D. Harrover, Chief 
Engineer, U.S. A, transport 
Wright \ Manila. 

" Do you care for this snap-shot which I took of 
two friends of mine doing a hand- spring off the edge 
of a roof?" — Mr. j* W. Pepper, Kerridge's Hotel, 
Dunbar, N,B. 


** The facts about this photo- 
graph are as follows; The gentle- 
man in the water had been trying 
to escape the police T and was 
evidently under the impression 
that if he dived into the water 
he would l>e safe from capture, 
so in he dived. Eventually he 
came to the surface, for a breath 
of fresh air no doubt, w r hereupun 
Ihe policemen threw him a life- 
buoy, which he condescended to 



"Though this photograph might, at first sight* l*e 
taken Un that of a mountain, it is in reality nothing 
more than a red- hot burning hay stack at a (arm fire 
in this village, which occurred a short lime ago. The 
post on the right* which has the appearance of the trunk 
of a tree* is an old gale post. With a slight stretch of 
imagination the debris at the foot of the y mound sun * 
might be taken for a row of small housesv*— Mr?. 
Stanley Slubbs, The Cottage, Ickham, near Dover. 

" Suspended by a short silken rope from the 
nether side of the stringer of a board fence, I found a 
chrysalis aliout two inches in length. In its secluded 
corner it looked like a bit of rubbish* \ landing from 
the lower end was a curled bit of leaf which, no 
doubt, was intended to mislead hungry birds. Sup- 
posing it to l*e ^ silkworm, I carefully pulled il frcm 
its attachment, when, to my gTeat surprise, I found 
that it had not a silken coat sufficient to conceal its 
body, A few yards distant was a clump of willows, 
from which about seventy -five pieces of twig as 
thick :*s a knitting-needle, 
and from one - fourth to 
one-half inch in length, 
w^re cut and taken ; e;ich 
slick was pitied to the 
liody, giving the appear- 
ance of a South Sea 
Islander in his home- made 
suit of weeds. Either the 
worm itself or some 
friendly assistant had 
selected the location, had 
considered the proximity 
of the willow, had mea- 
sured the proper length of 
each stick, and had car- 
ried each piece by wing 
or on fool. An amateur 
entomologist assures me 
that the worm made his 
own coat, Inil, the reader 
will ask, how can he con- 
vey himself uith such a 
clumsy euat on his Uxek 

and hang himself hy threads from his silken under-coat? 
Besides, he would no hanger have had legs with which 
to walk, and the sticks must have f>een brought one 
* Who made that wooden shroud? is the 
Mr* A. N + Moyer, Kansas City, Kansas* 

at a emit 

" This is not a photograph of a madman rushing 
into a crowd ; il is simply a snap-shot of Bedim, the 
young English juggler, in his act of calching on a 
fork, held in the teeth T a turnip dropped from a great 
height. Bedim, while performing at one of the local 
variety houses, agreed to do the trick, and a bet 
was made between the manager and a man al>out 
town. The feat was to l>e accomplished in three irials, 
bul it took leti l>efore I he young juggler harpooned the 
turnip. Mr. Bedim has performed the trick in New 
York, Chicago, and other large cities, but after his 
performance in San Francisco he acknowledged that 
it was the severest strain he was ever put to. The 


turnip was dropped from ihe main cornice ol the 
highest building in towrn, a distance of two hundred 
and ninety feet above ihe side- walk, The fact of 
the wind blowing half a gale and the sun being 
directly in his eyes was the cause of Mr. Fk-dini's not 
catching the turnip al the first or second drop. The 
camera caught him just as he was altout to spear ihe 
turnip, The point of the fork may be seen nisi above 
his shoulderj and the turnip is just beneath it, Il fell 
close to the cro^d, causing quite a jam against ihe 
building. The shock of the turnip as it reaches the fork 
h equal to two hundred and fifty |>ounds weight, and 
its speed is estimated at ninety miles an hour. M — Mr- 
Arthur M, Lev. is, 0.25, IJyiU: Street, San Francisco, 




™- _ x 

w I am sending you the photo* of a brooch made 
from a penny-piece of this year's coinage. Our little 
maid servant was wearing it when strolling by a 
small fair at Dover, where the usual me rry-go- rounds, 
shooting- targets, etc., were in full swing. A mis- 
directed bullet struck the brooch, grazing the skin of 
her neck as it glanced off. The indentation in nutch 
more apparent than it appears in the picture, The 
centre plate shows the coin vertically. The bullet is 
the size of an ordinary marble, and had it not been 
for the brooch she has reason lo think that her life 
would have been sacrificed* 1 '- — Mr. B. A. Igylesden, 
23* Randolph Gardens, Dover, 

"This marvellous mushroom grew in the cellar of 
a saloon in this city. It flourished where the {trip- 
ping*; of l^eer fell from the saloon above to the cellar 
and atlained full growth in six 
days from the spawn, which is a 
piece of rot sen wood eight inches 
Jong. It has one hundred and 
forty -two stems lo it, some of them 
growing ri^hl through each other 
and developing on the other side. 
It looked very much like an octo- 
pus or sea -devil, and was as white 
as a lily when found, though it 
dried up in two days* Botanical 
experts pronounce it a rarity, and 
say ihey never heard of anything 
like it," — Mr. P\ K* Syiiian, 
Springfield* Ohio. 

a whole clay pipe* 
pieces* which had 
during the evening, 
one seems to know, 

a tumbler off the mantelpiece and 
threw the broken pieces of glass 
into the fire. Nothing moie was 
thought of the matter until the 
next morning, when, on l he 
cinders being removed from the 
ri replace, the extraordinary object 
seen in the photograph was dis- 
covered. It is a solid piece of 
glass* in which is firmly embedded 
what has the apj^earance of Ijeing 

The latter is, however, in two 
also been thrown into the fire 

but as to when or by whom no 
The grate being a large one, 

it is rather curious that the two objects should 
have come into such close contact at all* especially 
as the fire was stirred and made up several times 
during the evening ; but that the position taken up 
by the pieces of pipe in the molten glass should have 
approached so near to their original form is, 10 say 
the least of jt, remarkable.**— Mr* C Packe, I!, 
Mount Pleasant Lane, Upper Clapton, N.E. 

"I beg to forward this photograph, taken by 
myself, of a New Zealand bank-note. It shows how 
far banks aie prepared lo go in cashing notes which 
have been mutilated almost l>eyond recognition. The 
full value was paid to the holder. This note had Wen 
burnt, and the fragments were collected and jammed 
on to a shdet of paper. "— Mr. I J. 1\ Mourant, care 
of Bank of New South Wales, Wellington, New 


" Whilst a game of billiards 

was in progress recently at the 

White Hart Hold, Clapton, one 

of the players accidentally knocked 




li This unique plaque is made by gumming ihe 
labels and bands of various brands of cigars ova the 
surface of a common while din net -plate. The centre 
is the coat of arms taken from a cigar-1>wt ; the 
inner ring is made of the hands of Non Plus Ultra 
cigars ; the middle ring of the labels of Slars and 
Stripes tobacco ; and the outer ring of the hands of 
Regalia cigars."— Mr. W. Metherell, 23, William 
Street, Heme Pay, Kent* 

H This curiosity is from the kitchen garden of Mr, 
Frederick W. Giddings, a resident of Hartford, Con- 

necticut. The 
cucumber was 
placed in the 
bolt I e when about 
two inches long 
and left attached 
to the vine* The 
soil being fertile 
and other condi- 
tions favourable* it 
ripened in a little 
over a fortnight, 


*' I send you a snap-shot of an ancient signboard 

recently * dug out ' at l J adstow, and now in the 

possession of Mr. Burton, the proprietor of 'The 

Old Curiosity Shop* at Falmouth. It may be of 




FImietureImtp Mew Such At 
old chair?. Sofas Old hare 


iqBe e Camo oh AKew Prmci pal . 


M Ad Oyer 50 Yej&Expure wce 
IwTNeTrkade Ahd Cam 3m aw Good 


OrGemtelkwjWhaktivig Such 

Favor For a troy al Akd All 


charce By % » ■ 



interest to jour re:ulers p as the spelling of the words 
gives a good impression of the standard of education 
about two centuries ago." — Mr. K. Udy, Sunny side, 
Fllerton Road, Surbiton, 

"This photograph was taken quite recently in 
Sussex, and shows two postmen busily engaged sort- 
ing the midday letter* by the roadside, which is done 
in all weathers withiu three miles of Arundel, Who 
would believe that so primitive a * sorting office ' still 
exists in the twentieth century ? ' — Mr G. II. IIcnly t 
Avisford, Arundel, Sussex. 

attaining a length of eight and a half 
inches and a diameter of two and a half 
inches, completely closing the neck of the 
bottle, 8ti that rain -water collected during 
its growth will not leak dui even though 
the bottle lie inverted*"— Mr + U. D. 
Stevens, Ifartford* Connecticut. 

Digitized by V^OC 


(""rw^nL'' Original from 



{$** fag* 133.) 

by Google 

Original from 

The Strand Magazine. 

Vol. xxv. 

FEBRUARY, 1903. 

No. 146. 

The Adventures of Etienne Gerard, 

By A. Conan Doyle. 


II. — The Adventure of the 
Prussian Horsemen. 

TOLD you when last we 
met, my friends, of the im- 
portant mission from the 
Emperor to Marshal Grouchy, 
which failed through no fault 
of my own, and I described 

to you how during a long afternoon I was 
shut up in the attic of a country inn, and 
was prevented from coming out because the 
Prussians were all around me. You will 
remember also how I overheard the Chief of 
the Prussian Staff give his instructions to 
Count Stein, and so learned the dangerous 
plan which was on foot to kill or capture the 
Emperor in the event of a French defeat. 
At first I could not have believed in such a 
thing, but since the guns had thundered all 
day, and since the sound had made no 
advance in my direction, it was evident that 
the English had at least held their own and 
beaten off all our attacks. 

I have said that it was a fight that day 
between the soul of France and the beef of 
England, but it must be confessed that we 
found the beef was very tough. It was clear 
that if the Emperor could not defeat the 
English when alone, then it might, indeed, 
go hard with him now that sixty thousand of 
these cursed Prussians were swarming on his 
flank. In any case, with this secret in my 
possession, my place was by his side. 

I had made my \vay out of the inn in 
the dashing mannerwhich I have described 
to you when last we met, and I left the 
English aide-de-camp shaking his foolish fist 
out of the window. I could not but laugh 
as I looked back at him, for his angry red face 
was framed and frilled with hay. Once out on 
the road I stood erect in my stirrups, and I put 
on the handsome black riding-coat, lined with 

VgL m,-i9. 

red, which had belonged to him. It fell to 
the top of my high boots, and covered my 
tell-tale uniform completely. As to my 
busby, there are many such in the German 
service, and there was no reason why it 
should attract attention. So long as no one 
spoke to me there was no reason why I should 
not ride through the whole of the Prussian 
army; but though I understood German, for 
I had many friends among the German ladies 
during the pleasant years that I fought all 
over that country, still I spoke it with a pretty 
Parisian accent which could not be con- 
founded with their rough, unmusical speech. 
I knew that this quality of my accent would 
attract attention, but I could only hope and 
pray that I would be permitted to go my way 
in silence. 

The Forest of Paris was so large that it 
was useless to think of gcing round it, and 
so I took my courage in both hands and 
galloped on down the road in the track of the 
Prussian army. It was not hard to trace it, 
for it was rutted two feet deep by the gun- 
wheels and the caissons. Soon I found a 
fringe of wounded men, Prussians and 
French, on each side of it, where Billow's 
advance had come into touch with Marbot's 
Hussars. One old man with a long white 
beard, a surgeon, I suppose, shouted at me, 
and ran after me still shouting, but I never 
turned my head and took no notice of him 
save to spur on faster. I heard his shouts 
long after I had lost sight of him among the 

Presently I came up with the Prussian 
reserves. The infantry were leaning on their 
muskets or lying exhausted on the wet 
ground, and the officers stood in groups 
listening to the mighty roar of the battle and 
discussing the reports which came from the 
front. I hurried past at the top of my speed. 

Copyright, 1903, by George Newoet, Limit; + 




but one of them rushed out and stood in my 
path with his hand up as a signal to me to 
stop. Five thousand Prussian eyes were 
turned upon me. There was a moment ! You 
turn pale, my friends, at the thought of it 
Think how every hair upon me stood on end. 
But never for one instant did my wits or my 
courage desert me. ** General Blucher ! w I 
cried. Was it not my guardian angel who 
whispered the words in my ear ? The 
Prussian sprang from my path, saluted, and 
pointed forwards. They are well disciplined, 
these Prussians, and who was he that he 

stood near a burning farm. " There is 
Marshal Blucher. Deliver your message!" 
said he, and sure enough my terrible old 
grey-whiskered veteran was there within a 
pistol shot, his eyes turned in my direction. 

But the good guardian angel did not 
desert me. Quick as a flash there came into 
my memory the name of the general who 
commanded the advance of the Prussians. 
" General Biilow ! " I cried. The Uhlan 
let go my bridle* " General Biilow ! General 
IJulow ! ]t I shouted, as every stride of the 
dear little mare took me nearer my own 


should dare to stop the officer who bore a 
message to the general? It was a talisman 
that would pass me out of every danger, and 
my heart sang within me at the thought. So 
elated was I that I no longer waited to be 
asked, but as I rode through the army I 
shouted to right and left, *' General Blucher ! 
General Blucher!" and every man pointed 
me onwards and cleared a path to let me 
pass. There are times when the most 
supreme impudence is the highest wisdom* 
But discretion must also be used, and I must 
admit that I became indiscreet. For as I 
rode upon my way, ever nearer to the fighting 
line, a Prussian officer of Uhlans gripped my 
bridle and pointed to a group of men who 

people* Through the burning village of 
Plancenoit I galloped, spurred my way 
between two columns of Prussian infantry, 
sprang over a hedge, cut down a Silesia n 
Hussar who flung himself before me, and an 
instant afterwards, with my coat flying open 
to show the uniform below, I passed through 
the open files of the tenth of the line, and 
was back in the heart of Lohau's corps once 
more. Outnumbered and outflanked, they 
were being slowly driven in by the pressure 
of the Prussian advance. I galloped onwards, 
anxious only to find myself by the Emperor's 

But a sight lay before me which held me 
fast as though I had been turned into some 




noble equestrian statue. I could not move, I 
could scarce breathe, as I gazed upon it. 
There was a mound over which my path lay, 
and as I came out on the top of it I looked 
down the long, shallow valley of Waterloo. 
I had left it with two great armies on 
either side and a clear field between thern. 
Now there were but long, ragged fringes of 
broken and exhausted regiments upon the 
two ridges* but a real army of dead and 
wounded lay between. For two miles in 
length and half a mile across the ground 
was strewed and heaped with them* But 
slaughter was no new sight to me, and it 
was not that which held me spellbound It 
wis that up the long slope of the British 
position was moving a walking forest— black, 
tossing, waving, unbroken. Did I not know 
the bearskins of the Guard ? And did I not 
also know 1 did not my soldier's instinct tell 
me, that it was the last reserve of France ; 
that the Emperor, like a desperate gamester, 
wa*> staking all upon his last card ? Up they 
went and up — grand, solid, unbreakable, 
scourged with musketry, riddled with grape, 
Rowing onwards in a black, heavy tide, which 
lapped over the British batteries* With my 
glass I could see the English gunners throw 

themselves under their pieces or run to the 
rear. On rolled the crest of the bearskins, 
and then, with a crash which was swept 
across to my ears, they met the British 
infantry. A minute passed, and another, and 
another. My heart was in my mouth. They 
swayed back and forwards ; they no longer 
advanced ; they were held. Great Heaven ! 
was it possible that they were breaking? 
One black dot ran down the hill, then two, 
then four, then ten, then a great, scattered, 
struggling mass, halting, breaking, halting, 
and at last shredding out and rushing madly 
downwards. " The Guard is beaten ! The 
Guard is beaten ! " From all around me I 
heard the cry, Along the whole line the 
infantry turned their faces and the gunners 
flinched from their guns, 

"The Old Guard is beaten ! The Guard 
retreats ! " An officer with a livid face passed 
me yelling out these words of woe, " Save 
yourselves ! Save yourselves ! You are 
betrayed ! " cried another. " Save your- 
selves ! Save yourselves ! " Men were 
rushing madly to the rear, blundering and 
jumping like frightened sheep. Cries and 
screams rose from all around me. And at 
that moment, as I looked at the British 






position, I saw what I can never forget. A 
single horseman stood out black and clear 
upon the ridge against the last red angry 
glow of the setting sun. So dark, so motion- 
less against that grim light, he might have 
been the very spirit of Battle brooding over 
that terrible valley. As I gazed he raised his 
hat high in the air, and at the signal, with a 
low, deep roar like a breaking wave, the 
whole British Army flooded over their ridge 
and came rolling down into the valley. 
Long steel-fringed lines of red and blue, 
sweeping waves of cavalry, horse batteries 
rattling and bounding— down they came on 
to our crumbling ranks. It was over. A 
yell of agony, the agony of brave men who 
see no hope, rose from one flank to the 
other, and in an instant the whole of that 
noble army was swept in a wild, terror- 
stricken crowd from the field. Even now, 
dear friends, I cannot, as you see, speak 
of that dreadful moment with a dry eye or 
with a steady voice. 

At first I was carried away in that wild 
rush, whirled off like a straw in a flooded 
gutter. But, suddenly, what should I see 
amongst the mixed regiments in front of me 
but a group Of stern horsemen, in silver and 
grey, with a broken and tattered standard 
held aloft in the heart of them ! Not all the 
might of England and of Prussia could break 
the Hussars of Conflans. But when I joined 
them it made my heart bleed to see them. 
The major, seven captains, and five hundred 
men were left upon the field. Young Captain 
Sabbatier was in command, and when I 
asked him where were the five missing 
squadrons he pointed back and answered : 
"You will find them round one of those 
British squares." Men and horses were at 
their last gasp, caked with sweat and dirt, 
their black tongues hanging out from their 
lips ; but it made me thrill with pride to see 
how that shattered remnant still rode knee to 
knee, with every man, from the boy trumpeter 
to the farrier-sergeant, in his own proper 
place. Would that I could have brought 
them on with me as an escort for the 
Emperor ! In the heart of the Hussars of 
Conflans he would be safe indeed. But the 
horses were too spent to trot. I left them 
behind me with orders to rally upon the 
farmhouse of St. Aunay, where we had 
camped two nights before. For my own 
part I forced my horse through the throng in 
search of the Emperor. 

There were things which I saw then, as I 
pressed through that dreadful crowd, which 
C*n never be banished from my mind. In 

Digitized by <L>< 

evil dreams there comes back to me the 
memory of that flowing stream of livid, 
staring, screaming faces upon which I looked 
down. It was a nightmare. In victory one 
does not understand the horror of war. It 
is only in the cold chill of defeat that it is 
brought home to you. I remember an old 
Grenadier of the Guard lying at the side of 
the 'road with his broken leg doubled at a 
right angle. " Comrades, comrades, keep off 
my leg ! " he cried, but they tripped and 
stumbled over him all the same. In front of 
me rode a Lancer officer without his coat. 
His arm had just been taken off in the 
ambulance. The bandages had fallen. It 
was horrible. Two gunners tried to drive 
through with their gun. A Chasseur raised 
his musket and shot one of them through 
the head. I saw a major of Cuirassiers 
draw his two holster pistols and shoot first 
his horse and then himself. Beside the road 
a man in a blue coat was raging and raving 
like a madman. His face was black with 
powder, his clothes were torn, one epaulette 
was gone, the other hung dangling over 
his breast. Only when I came close to 
him did I recognise that it was Marshal 
Ney. He howled at the flying troops and 
his voice was hardly human. Then he raised 
the stump of his sword— it was broken three 
inches from the hilt. " Come and see how 
a Marshal of France can die ! " he cried. 
Gladly would I have gone with him, but my 
duty lay elsewhere. He did not, as you 
know, find the death he sought, but he met 
it a few weeks later in cold blood at the 
hands of his enemies. 

There is an old proverb that in attack the 
French are more than men, in defeat they 
are less than women. I knew that it was 
true that day. But even in that rout I saw 
things which I can tell with pride. Through 
the fields which skirt the road moved Cam- 
bronne's three reserve battalions of the Guard, 
the cream of our army. They walked slowly 
in square, their colours waving over the 
sombre line of the bearskins. All round 
them raged the English cavalry and the 
black Lancers of Brunswick, wave after wave 
thundering up, breaking with a crash, and 
recoiling in ruin. When last I saw them the 
English guns, six at a time, were smashing 
grape - shot through their ranks and the 
English infantry were closing in upon three 
sides and pouring volleys into them ; but still, 
like a noble lion with fierce hounds clinging 
to its flanks, the glorious remnant of the 
Guard, marching slowly, halting, closing up, 
dressing, mo v ed majestically from their last 

v ■_■ l I Lj 1 1 M r T I 'J I 1 » 




battle. Behind them the Guard's battery of 
twelve - pounders was drawn up upon the 
ridge* Every gunner was in his place, but no 
gun fired, M Why do you not fire ? 3i I asked 
the colonel as I passed. "Our powder is 
finished." " Then why not retire ? " " Our 
appearance may hold them back for a little. 
We must give the Emperor time to escape," 
Such were the soldiers of France, 

Behind this screen of brave men the 
others took their breath, and then went on 
in less desperate fashion. They had broken 
away from the road, and all over the country- 
side in the twilight I could see the timid, 
scattered, frightened crowd who ten hours 

" Have you seen Marshal Grouchy ? " 
" No, Sire, The Prussians were between." 
" It does not matter. Nothing matters 
now, Soult, I will go back." 

He tried to turn his horse, but Bertrand 
seized his bridle. " Ah, Sire/' said Soult, 
" the enemy has had good fortune enough 
already," They forced him on among them. 
He rode in silence with his chin upon his 
breast, the greatest and the saddest of men. 
Far away behind us those remorseless guns 
were still roaring. Sometimes out of the dark- 
ness would come shrieks and screams and the 
low thunder of galloping hoofs. At the sound 
we would spur our horses and hasten on- 


before had formed the finest army that ever 
went down to battle. I with my splendid 
mare was soon able to get clear of the throng, 
and just after I passed Genappe I overtook 
the Emperor with the remains of his Staff, 
Soult was with him still, and so were Drouot, 
Lobau, and Bertrand, with five Chasseurs of 
the Guard, their horses hardly able to move, 
The night was falling, and the Emperor's 
haggard face gleamed white through the 
gloom as he turned tt towards me. 

" Who is that ? " he asked. 

"It is Co lon el Gerard," said Soult. 

wards through the scattered troops. At last, 
after riding all night in the clear moonlight, 
we found that we had left both pursued and 
pursuers behind. By the time we passed 
over the bridge at Charleroi the dawn was 
breaking. What a company of spectres we 
looked in that cold, clear, searching light, the 
Emperor with his face of wax, Soult blotched 
with powder, Lobau dabbled w f kh blood ! 
But we rode more easily now and had ceased 
to glance over our shoulders, for Waterloo 
was more than thirty miles behind us. One 
of the Emperors carnages had been picked 




up at Charleroi, and we halted now on the 
other side of the Sambre, and dismounted 
from our horses. 

You will ask me why it was that during all 
this time I had said nothing of that which 
was nearest my heart, the need for guarding 
the Emperor. As a fact, 1 had tried to 
speak of it both to Soult and to Lobau, but 
their minds were so overwhelmed with the 
disaster and so distracted by the pressing 
needs of the moment that it was impossible 
to make them understand how urgent was 
my message. Besides, during this long flight 
we had always had numbers of French 
fugitives beside us on the road, and, however 
demoralized they might be, we had nothing 
to fear from the attack of nine men. But 
now, as we stood round the Emperor's 
carriage in the early morning, I observed with 
anxiety that not a single French soldier was 
to be seen upon the long, white road behind 
us- We had outstripped the army, I looked 
round to see what 
means of defence 
were left to us. The 
horses of the Chas- 
seurs of the Guard 
had broken down, 
and only one of 
them, a grey- whis- 
kered sergeant, re- 
mained. There were 
Sou It* Lobau, and 
Bertrand ; but, for all 
their talents, I had 
rather, when it came 
to hard knocks, have 
a single quarter- 
master - sergeant of 
Hussars at my side 
than the three of 
them put together. 
There remained the 
Emperor himself, the 
coach man , and a valet 
of the household who 
had joined us at 
Charleroi — eight all 
told ; but of the eight 
only two, the Chas- 
seur and I, were 
fighting soldiers who 
could be depended 
upon at a pinch. A 
chill came over me as 
I reflected how utterly 
helpless we were, At 
that moment I raised 
my eyes, and there 

were the nine Prussian horsemen coming 
over the hill 

On either side of the road at this point 
are long stretches of rolling plain, part of it 
yellow with corn and part of it rich grass 
land watered by the Sambre. To the south 
of us was a low ridge, over which was the 
road to France Along this road the little 
group of cavalry was riding. So well had 
Count Stein obeyed his instructions that he 
had struck far to the south of us in his 
determination to get ahead of the Emperor, 
Now he was riding from the direction in 
which we were going — the last in which we 
could expect an enemy. When I caught 
that first glimpse of them they were still 
half a mile away. 

" Sire ! " I cried, " the Prussians ! v 
They all started and stared. It was the 
Emperor who broke the silence. 
11 Who says they are Prussians ? " 
" I do, Sire— I, Etienne Gerard ! " 




Unpleasant news always made the Emperor 
furious against the man who broke it. He 
railed at me now in the rasping, croaking, 
Corsican voice which only made itself heard 
when he had lost his self-control. 

44 You were always a buffoon," he cried. 
" What do you mean, you numskull, by 
saying that they are Prussians ? How could 
Prussians be coming from the direction of 
France ? You have lost any wits that you 
ever possessed." 

His words cut me like a whip, and yet we 
all felt towards the Emperor as an old dog 
does to its master. His kick is soon for- 
gotten and forgiven. I would not argue or 
justify myself. At the first glance I had 
seen the two white stockings on the forelegs 
of the ieading horse, and I knew well that 
Count Stein was on its back. For an 
instant the nine horsemen had halted and 
surveyed us. Now they put spurs to their 
horses, and with a yell of triumph they 
galloped down the road. They had recog- 
nised that their prey was in their power. 

At that swift advance all doubt had 
vanished " By heavens, Sire, it is indeed 
the Prussians!" cried SoulL Lobau and 
Bertrand ran about the road like two 
frightened hens. The sergeant of Chasseurs 
drew his sabre with a volley of curses. The 
coachman and the valet cried and wrung 
their hands. Napoleon stood with a frozen 
face, one foot on the step of the carriage. 
And I — ah. my friends, I was magnificent ! 
What words can I use to do justice to my 
own bearing at that supreme instant of my 
life? So coldly alert, so deadly cool, so 
clear in brain and ready in hand. He 
had called me a numskull and a buffoon. 
How quick and how noble was my revenge ! 
When his own wits failed him, it was Etienne 
Gerard who supplied the want 

To fight was absurd ; to fly was ridicu- 
lous. The Emperor was stout, and weary to 
death. At the best he was never a good 
rider. How could he fly from these, the 
picked men of an army ? The best horse- 
man in Prussia was among them. But I was 
the best horseman in France. I, and only I, 
could hold my own with them. If they were 
on my track instead of the Emperor's, all 
might still be well. , These were the thoughts 
which flashed so swiftly through my mind 
that in an instant I had sprung from the first 
idea to the final conclusion. Another instant 
carried me from the final conclusion to 
prompt and vigorous action. I .rushed to 
the side of the Emperor, who stood petrified, 
with the carriage between him and our 


enemies. " Your coat, Sire ! your hat ! " 
I cried. I dragged them off him. Never 
had he been so hustled in his life. In an 
instant I had them on and had thrust him 
into the carriage. The next I had sprung on 
to his famous white Arab and had ridden 
clear of the group upon the road. 

You have already divined my plan ; but 
you may well ask how could I hope to pass 
myself off as the Emperor. My figure is as 
you still see it, and his was never beautiful, 
for he was both short and stout. But a 
man's height is not remarked when he is in 
the saddle, and for the rest one had but to 
sit forward on the horse and round one's 
back and carry oneself like a sack of flour. 
I wore the little cocked hat awd the loose 
grey coat with the silver star which was 
known to every child from one end of 
Europe to the other. Beneath mc was the 
Emperor's own famous white charger. It 
was complete. 

Already as I rode clear the Prussians were 
within two hundred yards of us. I made a 
gesture of terror and despair with my hands, 
and I sprang my horse over the bank which 
lined the road. It was enough. A yell of 
exultation and of furious hatred broke from 
the Prussians. It was the howl of starving 
wolves who scent their prey. I spurred my 
horse over the meadow-land and looked back 
under my arm as I rode. Oh, the glorious 
moment when one after the other I saw eight 
horsemen come over the bank at my heels ! 
Only one had stayed behind, and I heard 
shouting and the sounds of a struggle. I 
remembered my old sergeant of* Chasseurs, 
and I was sure that number nine would 
trouble us no more. The road was clear 
and the Emperor free to continue his 

But now I had to think of myself. If I 
were overtaken the Prussians would certainly 
make short work of me in their disappoint- 
ment. If it were so— if I lost my life — I 
should still have sold it at a glorious price. 
But I had hopes that I might shake them 
off. With ordinary horsemen upon ordinary 
horses I should have had no difficulty in 
doing so, but here both steeds and riders 
were of the best. It was a grand creature 
that I rode, but it was weary w r ith its long 
night's work, and the Emperor was one of 
those riders who do not know how to manage 
a horse. He had little thought for them and 
a heavy hand upon their mouths. On the 
other hand, Stein and his men had come 
both far and fast. The race was a fair one. 

So quickf^^djf-^^^yny impulse, and so 




rapidly had I acted upon it, that I had not 
thought enough of my own safety. Had I 
done so in the fir^t instance 1 should, of 
course, have ridden straight back the way we 
had come, for so I should have met our own 
people. But I was off the road and had 
galloped a mile over the plain before this 
occurred to me. Then when I looked hack 
I saw that the Prussians had spread out into 
a long line, so as to head me off from the 
Charleroi road. I could not turn back T but 
at least I could edge towards the north. I 
knew that the whole face of the country was 
covered with our flying troops, and that 
sooner or later I must come upon some of 

But one thing I had forgotten — the 

for I saw a house on my side of the stream 
and another on the farther bank* Where 
there are two such houses it usually means 
that there is a ford between them. A sloping 
path led to the brink and I urged my horse 
down it On he went, the water up to the 
saddle, the foam flying right and left. He 
blundered once and I thought we were lost, 
but he recovered and an instant later was 
clattering up the farther slope. As we came 
out I heard the splash behind me as the first 
Prussian took the water. There was just the 
breadth of the Sambre between us. 

I rode with my head sunk between my 
shoulders in Napoleon's fashion, and 1 did 
not dare to look back for fear they should 
see my moustache, I had turned up the 


Sambre, In my excitement I never gave 
it a thought until I saw it^ deep and broad, 
gleaming in the morning sunlight. It barred 
my path, and the Prussians howled behind me. 
I galloped to the brink, but the horse refused 
the plunge, I spurred him, but the bank 
was high and the stream deep. He shrank 
back trembling and snorting. The yells of 
triumph were louder every instant I turned 
and rode for my life down the river bank. 
It formed a loop at this part, and I must get 
across somehow, for my retreat was blocked. 
Suddenly a thrill of hope ran through me, 

by Google 

collar of the grey coat so as partly to hide 
it Even now if they found out their 
mistake they might turn and overtake the 
carriage. But when once we were on the road 
I could tell by the drumming of their hoofs 
how far distant they were, and it seemed to 
me that the sound grew perceptibly louder, 
as if they were slowly gaining upon me. We 
were riding now up the stony and rutted lane 
which led from the ford. I peeped back very 
cautiously from under my arm and I per- 
ceived that my danger came from a single 
rider, who was far ahead of his comrades, 




He was a Hussar, a very tiny fellow, upon a 
big black horse, and it was his light weight 
which had brought him into the foremost 
place. It is a place of honour ; but it is also 
a place of danger, as he was soon to learn. 
I felt the holsters, but, to my horror, there 
were no pistols. There was a field-glass in 
one and the other was stuffed with papers. 
My sword had been left behind with Violette. 
Had I only my own weapons and my own 
little mare I could have played with these 
rascals. But I was not entirely unarmed. 
The Emperor's own sword hung to the 
saddle. It was curved and short, the hilt 
all crusted with gold — a thing more fitted to 
glitter at a review than to serve a soldier in 
his deadly need. I drew it, such as it was, 
and I waited my chance. Every instant the 
clink and clatter of the hoofs grew nearer. I 
heard the panting of the horse, and the 
fellow shouted some threat at me. There 
was a turn in the lane, and as I rounded 
it I drew up my white Arab on his 
haunches. As we spun round I met the 
Prussian Hussar face to face. He was going 
too fast to stop, and his only chance was to 
ride me down. Had he done so he might 
have met his own death, but he would have 
injured me or my horse past all hope of 
escape. But the fool flinched as he saw me 
waiting and flew past me on my right. I 
lunged over my Arab's neck and buried my 
toy sword in his side. It must have been 
the finest steel and as sharp as a razor, for 
I hardly felt it enter, and yet his blood was 
within three inches of the hilt. His horse 
galloped on and he kept his saddle for a 
hundred yards before he sank down with his 
face on the mane and then dived over the 
side of the neck on to the road. For my 
own part I was already at his horse's heels. 
A few seconds had sufficed for all that I 
have told. 

I heard the cry of rage and vengeance 
which rose from the Prussians as they passed 
their dead comrade, and I could not but 
smile as I wondered what they could think 
of the Emperor as a horseman and a swords- 
man. I glanced back cautiously as before, 
and I saw that none of the seven men stopped. 
The fate of their comrade was nothing com- 
pared to the carrying out of their mission. 
They were as untiring and as remorseless as 
bloodhounds. But I had a good lead and 
the brave Arab was still going well. I 
thought that I was safe. And yet it was at 
that very instant that the most terrible danger 
befell me. The lane divided, and I took the 
smaller of the two divisions because it was 

Digitized by V.1OOQ IC 

the more grassy and the easier for the horse's 
hoofs. Imagine my horror when, riding 
through a gate, I found myself in a square 
of stables and farm-buildings, with no way 
out save that by which I had come ! Ah, 
my friends, if my hair is snowy white, have I 
not had enough to make it so ? 

To retreat was impossible. I could hear 
the thunder of the Prussians' hoofs in the 
lane. I looked round me, and Nature has 
blessed me with that quick eye which is the 
first of gifts to any soldier, but most of all to 
a leader of cavalry. Between a long, low 
line of stables and the farmhouse there was 
a pig-sty. Its front was made of bars of 
wood four feet high ; the back was of stone, 
higher than the front What was beyond I 
could not tell. The space between the front 
and the back was not more than a few yards. 
It was a desperate venture, and yet I must 
take it. Every instant the beating of those 
hurrying hoofs was louder and louder. I put 
my Arab at the pig-sty. She cleared the 
front beautifully and came down with her 
forefeet upon the sleeping pig within, slipping 
forward upon her knees. I was thrown over 
the wall beyond, and fell upon my hands 
and face in a soft flower-bed. My horse was 
upon one side of the wall, I upon the other, 
and the Prussians were pouring into the yard. 
But I was up in an instant and had seized 
the bridle of the plunging horse over the top 
of the wall. It was built of loose stones, 
and I dragged down a few of them to make 
a gap. As I tugged at the bridle and 
shouted the gallant creature rose to the 
leap, and an instant afterwards she was by 
my side and I with my foot on the stirrup. 

An heroic idea had entered my mind as I 
mounted into the saddle. These Prussians, 
if they came over the pig-sty, could only 
come one at once, and their attack would 
not be formidable when they had not had 
time to recover from such a leap. Why 
should I not wait and kill them one by one 
as they came over ? It was a glorious 
thought. They would learn that Etienne 
Gerard was not a safe man to hunt. My 
hand felt for my sword, but you can imagine 
my feelings, my friends, when I came upon 
an empty scabbard. It had been shaken out 
when the horse had tripped over that infernal 
pig. On what absurd trifles do our destinies 
hang — a pig on one side, Etienne Gerard on 
the other ! Could I spring over the wall and 
get the sword ? Impossible ! The Prussians 
were already in the yard. I turned my Arab 
and resumed my flight. 

But for a moment it seemed to me that I 


(""rw^nL'' Original from 


(""rw^nL'' Original from 




was in a far worse trap than before. I found 
myself in the garden of the farmhouse, an 
orchard in the centre and flower- beds all 
round. A high wall surrounded the whole 
place. I re fleeted , however, that there must 
be some point of entrance, since every visitor 
could not be expected to spring over the pig- 
sty. I rode round the wall As I expected, 
I came upon a door with a key upon the 
inner side, I dismounted, unlocked it, 
opened it, and there was a Prussian I^ancer 
sitting his horse 
within six feet 
ot me. 

For a moment 
we each stared 
at the other, 
Then I shut the 
door and locked 
it again. A crash 
and a cry came 
from the other 
end of the 
garden* I under^ 
stood that one 
of my enemies 
had come to 
grief in trying 
to get over the 
pig - sty. How 
could I ever get 
out of this cul- 
de-sac? It was 
evident that 
som e of the 
party had gal- 
loped round, 
while some had 
followed straight 
upon my tracks* 
Had I my sword 
I might have 
beaten off the 
Lancer at the 
door, hut to 
come out now 
was to be but- 
chered, And 

yet if I waited some of them would 
certainly follow me on foot over the pig- 
sty, and what could I do then? I must 
act at once or I was lost. But it is at such 
moments that my wits are most active and 
my actions most prompt. Still leading my 
horse, I ran for a hundred yards by the side 
of the wall away from the spot where the 
Lancer was watching. There I stopped, and 
with an effort I tumbled down several of 
the loose stones from t 


The instant I had done so I hurried back to 
the door. As I had expected, he thought I 
was making a gap for my escape at that 
point, and I heard the thud of his horse's 
hoofs as he galloped to cut me off. As I 
reached the gate I looked back, and I saw a 
green coated horseman, whom I knew to be 
Count Stein, clc?r the pigsty and gallop 
furiously with a shout of triumph across the 
garden, u Surrender, your Majesty, sur- 
render ! " he yelled ; ig we will give you 

quarter ! " I 
slipped through 
the gate, but 
had no time to 
lock it on the 
other side. Stein 
was at my very 
heels, and the 
lancer had al- 
ready turned his 
horse. Spring- 
ing upon my 
Arab's back, I 
was off once 
more with a 
clear stretch of 
grass land be- 
fore me. Stein 
had to dismount 
to open the 
gate, to lead his 
horse; through, 
ind to mount 
again before he 
could follow. It 
was he that I 
feared rather 
than the Lancer, 
whose horse was 
coarse- bred and 
weary. I gal- 
loped hard for 
a mile before I 
ventured to look 
back, and then 
Stein was a 
musket -shot 
from me, and the Lancer as much again, 
while only three of the others were in sight. 
My nine Prussians were coming down to 
more manageable numbers, and yet one was 
too much for an unarmed man. 

It had surprised me that during this long 
chase I had seen no fugitives from the army T 
but I reflected that I was considerably to the 
west of their line of flight, and that I must 
edge more towards the east if I wished 
to join th>|ti^iniF#:flS"iI did so it was prob 





able that my pursuers, even if they could 
not overtake me themselves, would keep 
me. in view until I was headed off by 
some of their comrades Coming from 
the north. As I looked to the eastward 
I saw afar off a line of dust which 
stretched for miles across the country. This 
was certainly the main road along which our 
unhappy army was flying. But I soon had 
proof that some of our stragglers had 
wandered into these side tracks, for I came 
suddenly upon a horse grazing at the corner 
of a field, and beside him, with his back 
against the bank, his master, a French 
Cuirassier, terribly wounded and evidently 
on the point of death. I sprang down, 
seized his long, heavy sword, and rode on 
with it. Never shall I forget the poor man's 
face as he looked at me with his failing sight. 
He was an old, grey-moustached soldier, one 
of the real fanatics, and to him this last 
vision of his Emperor was like a revelation 
from on high. Astonishment, love, pride — 
all shone in his pallid face. He said some- 
thing—I fear they were his last words — but I 
had no time to listen, and I galloped on 
my way. 

All this time I had been on the meadow- 
land, which was intersected in this part by 
broad ditches. Some of them could not 
have been less than from fourteen to fifteen 
feet, and my heart was in my mouth as I 
went at each of them, for a slip would have 
been my ruin. But whoever selected the 
Emperor's horses had done his work well. 
The creature, save when it balked on the 
bank of the Sambre, never failed me for an 
instant. We cleared everything in one 
stride. And yet we could not shake off 
those infernal Prussians. As I left each 
watercourse behind me I looked back with 
renewed hope, but it was only to see Stein 
on his white-legged chestnut flying over it as 
lightly as I had done myself. He was my 
enemy, but I honoured him for the way in 
which he carried himself that day. 

Again and again I measured the distance 
which separated him from the next horseman. 
I had the idea that I might turn and cut him 
down, as I had the Hussar, before his com- 
rade could come to his help. But the others 
had closed up and were not far behind. I 
reflected that this Stein was probably as fine 
a swordsman as he was a rider, and that it 
might take me some little time to get the 
better of him. In that case the others 
would come to his aid and I should be lost. 
On the whole, it was wiser to continue my 

by C^OOgle 

A road with poplars on either side ran 
across the plain from east to west. It would 
lead me towards that long line of dust which 
marked the French retreat. I wheeled my 
horse, therefore, and galloped down it. As I 
rode I saw a single house in front of me 
upon the right, with a great bush hung over 
the door to mark it as an inn. Outside there 
were several peasants, but for them I cared 
nothing. What frightened me was to see the 
gleam of a red coat, which showed that 
there were British in the place. However, 
I could not turn and I could not stop, so there 
was nothing for it but to gallop on and to take 
my chance. There were no troops in sight, 
so these men must be stragglers or marauders, 
from whom I had little to fear. As I 
approached I saw that there were two of 
them sitting drinking on a bench outside the 
inn door. I saw them stagger to their feet, 
and it was evident that they were both very 
drunk. One stood swaying in the middle of 
the road. " It's Boney ! So help me, it's 
Boney ! " he yelled. He ran with his hands 
out to catch me, but luckily for himself his 
drunken feet stumbled and he fell on his 
face on the road. The other was more 
dangerous. He had rushed into the inn, 
and just as I passed I saw him run out 
with his musket in his hand. He dropped 
upon one knee, and I stooped forward 
over my horse's neck. A single shot from a 
Prussian or an Austrian is a small matter, 
but the British were at that time the best 
shots in Europe, and my drunkard seemed 
steady enough when he had a gun at his 
shoulder. I heard the crack, and my horse 
gave a convulsive spring which would have 
unseated many a rider. For an instant I 
thought he was killed, but when I turned in 
my saddle I saw a stream of blood running 
down the off hind-quarter. I looked back 
at the Englishman, and the brute had bitten 
the end off another cartridge and was 
ramming it into his musket, but before he 
had it primed we were beyond his range. 
These men were foot-soldiers and could not 
join in the chase, but I heard them whoop- 
ing and tally-hoing behind me as if I had 
been a fox. The peasants also shouted and 
ran through the fields flourishing their sticks. 
From all sides I heard cries, and everywhere 
were the rushing, waving figures of my 
pursuers. To think of the great Emperor 
being chivvied over the countryside in this 
fashion ! It made me long to have these- 
rascals within the sweep of my sword. 

But now I felt that I was nearing the end 
of my course. I had done all that a man 




could be expected to do — some would 
say more — but at last I had come to a 
point from which I could see no escape. 
The horses of my pursuers were exhausted, 
but mine was exhausted and wounded 
also. It was losing blood fast, and we left 
a red trail upon the white, dusty road. 
Already his pace was slackening, and sooner 
or later he must drop under me. I looked 
back, and there were the five inevitable 
Prussians — Stein a hundred yards in front, 
then a Lancer, and then three others riding 
together. Stein had drawn his sword, and 
he waved it at me. For my own part I was 
determined not to give myself up. I would 
try how many of these Prussians I could 
take with me into the other world. At this 
supreme moment all the great deeds of my 
life rose in a vision before me, and I felt that 
this, my last exploit, was indeed ;i worthy close 
to such a career. My death would be a 
fatal blow to those who loved me, to my dear 
mother, to my Hussars, to others who shall 
be nameless. But all of them had my 
honour and my fame at heart, and I felt that 
their grief would be tinged with pride when 
they learned how I had ridden and how I 
had fought upon this last day. Therefore I 
hardened my heart and, as my Arab limped 
more and more upon his wounded leg, I 
drew the great sword which I had taken 
from the Cuirassier, and I set my teeth for 
my supreme struggle. My hand was in the 
very act of tightening the bridle, for I feared 
that if I delayed longer I might find myself 
on foot fighting against five mounted men. 
At that instant my eye fell upon something 
which brought hope to my heart and a shout 
of joy to my lips. 

From a grove of trees in front of me there 
projected the steeple of a village church. 
But there could not be two steeples like that, 
for the corner of it had crumbled away or 
been struck by lightning, so that it was of a 
most fantastic shape. I had seen it only two 
days before, and it was the church of the 
village of Gosselies. It was not the hope of 
reaching the village which set my heart sing- 
ing with joy, but it was that I knew my 
ground now, and that farmhouse not half a 
mile ahead, with its gable end sticking out 
from amid the trees, must be that very farm 
of St. Aunay where we had bivouacked, 
and which I had named to Captain Sabba- 
tier as the rendezvous of the Hussars of 
Conflans. There they were, my little rascals, 

if I could but reach them. With every 
bound my horse grew weaker. Each instant 
the sound of the pursuit grew louder. p I 
heard a gust of crackling German oaths at 
my very heels. A pistol bullet sighed in my 
ears. Spurring frantically and beating my 
poor Arab with the flat of my sword I kept 
him at the top of his speed. The open gate 
of the farmyard lay before me. I saw the 
twinkle of steel within. Stein's horse's head 
was within ten yards of me as I thundered 
through. " To me, comrades ! To me ! " I 
yelled. I heard a buzz as when the angry 
bees swarm from their nest. Then my 
splendid white Arab fell dead under me 
and I was hurled on to the cobble-stones 
of the yard, where I can remember no 

Such was my last and most famous exploit, 
my dear friends, a story which rang through 
Europe and has made the name of Etienne 
Gerard famous in history. Alas ! that all my 
efforts could only give the Emperor a few 
weeks more liberty, since he surrendered upon 
the 15 th of July to the English. But it was 
not my fault that he was not able to collect 
the forces still waiting for him in France, and 
to fight another Waterloo with a happier 
ending. Had others been as loyal as I was 
the history of the world might have been 
changed, the Emperor would have pre- 
served his throne, and such a soldier as I 
would not have been left to spend his 
life in planting cabbages or to while 
away his old age telling stories in a cafe. 
You ask me about the fate of Stein and the 
Prussian horsemen ! Of the three who 
dropped upon the way I know nothing. 
One you will remember that I killed. 
There remained five, three of whom were 
cut down by my Hussars, who, for the 
instant, were under the impression that it was 
indeed the Emperor whom they were defend- 
ing. Stein was taken, slightly wounded, and 
so was one of the Uhlans. The truth was 
not told to them, for we thought it best that 
no news, or false news, should get about as 
to where the Emperor was, so that Count 
Stein still believed that he was within a few 
yards of making that tremendous capture. 
"You may well love and honour your 
Emperor," said he, "for such a horseman 
and such a swordsman I have never seen." 
He could not understand why the young 
colonel of Hussars laughed so heartily at his 
words — but he has learned since. 

by Google 

Original from 

K.C*s and their Chambers. 

By A, Wallis Myers. 

With Fh&t&graphs specially taken by George Ntrwttes f Limited. 

OULD the flag-stones which 
pave the placid courts of the 
Temple cry out, what memo- 
ries they could give us 1 In 
the "good old times" bar- 
risters were not the staid, 
methodical men they are to-day. Many are 
the records which tell of free-and-easy 
midnight consultations, preceded or followed 
by a little supper-party at a neighbouring 
tavern. Just one story a propos of these 
days will suffice to introduce to your notice 
the very different chambers of some of 
the most eminent lawyers and advocates 
of the present time. Lord Mansfield, 
the famous Lord Chief Justice of the 
King's Bench, who lived almost through 
the eighteenth century , had his chambers 
at No. 5, King's Bench Walk, and there 

Sarah Duchess of 

attracted to 

Murray by a great speech he had delivered 
in a cause ceiedre^ persecuted him with calls 
ai most unseasonable hours. She once 
called without appointment at his chambers 

late at night, and waited till midnight in the 
hope that she might see the lawyer ere she 
went to bed. But the subsequent Lord 
Mansfield, being at an unusually late supper- 
party, did not return until her Grace had 
departed in an overpowering rage, M I could 
not make out who she was," said Murray's 
clerk, describing the manner of the Duchess, 
" for she would not tell me her name ; but 
she swore so dreadfully I am sure she must 
be a lady of quality/' 

An engraved portrait of this same Lord 
Mansfield is to be found among other pic- 
tures of celebrated lawyers of the past 
adorning the chambers of Sir Edward 
Clarke, K + C, at 2, Essex Court. Sir 
Edward is a Conservative in politics, as he 
is in the arrangement of his rooms. About 
his own private room, which is said to be the 
largest in the Middle Temple, there is that 
dignified simplicity and refinement which one 
naturally associates with a man of his habits. 
Old oak panels, periodically polished up by 
the Benchers, form the walls, broken by half- 





a-dozen high windows, commanding a view 
at once inspiring and serene* Just below the 
south windows is the famous fountain in 
Fountain Court, immortalized by Dickens, 
which sparkles and glitters and sprinkles the 
jaunty sparrows which use ils spray to wash 
off the l.ondon dust. To the left of this 
outlook Sir Edward has a fine view of the 
Middle Temple Hall and Library, the roof of 
which, according to Peter Cunningham, is 
the best piece of Elizabethan architecture in 
London. There is, in fad, a peace about 
the situation which must essentially tend 
to inspire the mind and quiet the nerves; 
amid its leafy surroundings one can easily 
imagine impassioned addresses to juries being 

But let us return to the room itself. In 
the middle of the chamber is a plain mahog- 
any desk, strangely free from the burden of 
briefs and legal papers. This is due to the 
fact that the great advocate, being an ex- 
Law Officer of the Crown, is provided by a 
thoughtful Government with a couple of 
rooms at the Law Courts themselves, in 
which the leader may consult his books and 
hold his more urgent consultations— needless 
to say, a great convenience. Sir Edward, 
therefore, only uses his room at Essex Court 
for certain special consultations, though dur- 
ing the vacation he is constantly there. 

Near the entrance to his room is a quaint 
and heavy bureau, of which Sir Edward is 
naturally proud, 
formerly belonging 
to Lord Beacons- 
field* A previous 
and very distin- 
guished tenant of 
the room, Sir 
John Karslake, 
Attorney - General 
nearly forty years 
ago, left behind 
him a long, solid, 
u n p reten t ious 
bookcase, now 
filled with his suc- 
cessor's volumes. 
Save (or another 
desk, at which a 
44 devil * may often 
be found when Sir 
Edward is there, 
and a couple of 
hard - bottomed 
writing chairs, plus 
a few seals for 
callers, there is no 

other furniture in the room to speak of; 
but portraits of several of Sir Edward's 
friends, as well as his predecessors, are 
noticed on the walls. il From his very 
sincere and very grateful friend," is inscribed 
by Mr, Justice Day beneath a full length 
engraving of himself. 

Sir Edward Clarke never " lives 1 ' at his 
chambers, though two of their former occu- 
pants, Sir John Karslake and Judge Short, 
one of the smaller rooms into a 
It is a striking proof of the great 
energy that he should 
daily from his beautiful 


K,C. J 5 consuming 
travel up to town 

house at Staines, returning thither after the 
exertions of the day are over. Of course, 
when he was in Parliament, with its late hours, 
such a vigorous procedure was Impossible, 
and Sir Edward had perforce to remain in 
town for the night* While he was at St 
Stephen's he had a private room set apart in 
the House for his use, in which he diligently 
worked in the evenings at his briefs. There 
is little doubt that Sir Edward regards his 
severance from political life as only temporary* 
Indeed* as one very near to him remarked to 
me in his chambers : " Without his member- 
ship of the House of Commons he is like 
an actor without a part" 

From the day Mr, Fletcher Moulton* K*C, 
F.R*S,, M*P*, became a student at the Bar 
and read under the late W. G. Harrison. 

by L^OOgle 




Q.C., down to the present time, a period of 
well-nigh thirty years, he has occupied the 
same chambers at n, King's Bench Walk, 
This must surely be nearly, if not quite, a 
record tenancy. Mr* Moulton grows old 
slowly, and when 1 had the privilege of a 
brief interview with him in his chambers for 
tbe purpose of this article I had difficulty 
in realizing that this distinguished lawyer, so 
alert both physically and mentally, would in a 
few years be celebrating his sixtieth birthday. 

"Is the Court now going to have the 
pleasure of one of your very interesting lec- 
tures on mechanics?" inquired the late Lord 
Esher or Mr, Moulton, as the latter rose to 
open an appeal 
case. " If your 
lordship pleases," 
was the reply of the 
learned counsel 

this judicial com- 
pliment, indicative 
of m a rvell o u s 
knowledge, I 
naturally expected 
to find Mr, Moul- 
ton's room stocked 
with a library of 
legal lore second 
to none in the 
T e m p.l e , But 
such was not the 
case. Books there 
were * of course, 
but the walls were 
singularly devoid 
of those heavy and 
solid cases which 
frame the rooms of 
many of his con- 
temporaries* The great patent lawyer is a 
man of very refined and elegant taste; and 
his private room reflects a cultured, travelled 
owner. He is an Officer, by the way, of the 
French Legion of Honour* The mantelpiece, 
to begin with, is a work of art in the style 
created in the reign of Queen Anne. The 
door is exquisitely panelled in leather bearing 
Japanese designs ; a beautiful bookcase near 
it is the product of Italian workmanship. 
There is a valuable framed Japanese design 
on either side of the fireplace ; but there are 
no pictures — indeed, their presence would 
spoil the elegant harmony of the apartment. 

H You hold a great many consultations in 
this room, Mr. Moulton?* 1 I asked, hearing 
the footsteps of clients waiting to " consult " 
in the adjoining room. 

Vol xxv -ie. 

Digitized by Google 

" Yes," he replied ; " I am rarely left 
alone when I leave the court* But then, 
you see, a great part of my work is non- 
Utigious j it involves not so much arguing 
before a judge as giving opinions to men 
who come here to obtain them." 

Having previously noticed an extraordinary 
variety of packages in the next room— some 
frail enough to contain ladies 1 wearing apparel 
— as indeed some did — and others strong 
enough to encase bars of gold — I suggested 
that callers did not always come alone. Mr. 
Moulton smiled, u I'm afraid," he observed, 
with a laugh, " parts of my chambers are 
little better than store-rooms j but, then, 


invention nowadays covers a very wide field 
— from flying-machines to egg-beaters." In 
the next room Ml Moulton's clerk, who has 
been in the chambers even longer than his 
master, showed me a dainty box containing 
a pair of lady's corsets, which had just 
arrived to demand an opinion. 

Higher up in the same famous legal row, 
at No. 2, Mr. Bargrave Deane, K.C., has his 
chambers, which, until some five or six 
years ago, he shared with His Honour Judge 
Willis, then Mr- William Willis, Q ; C. The 
last tenant of these rooms was Sir Patrick 
Colquhoun, Chief Justice of the Ionian 
Islands, and Mr. Bargrave Deane has had 
them for about a dozen years. They are com- 
fortable chambers, solid and dignified in their 

Original from 




appearance, as befits a Recorder of Margate 
and a Bencher of the Inner Temple. Vet the 
quiet decoration of Mr. Dearie's working room, 
a large and airy apartment, is not without 
its interest from a biographical point of view, 
A portrait of Lord Beaconsfield, for instance, 
in a prominent position, indicates the nature 
of its owner's political views, even though 
ky Dizzy" is in juxtaposition to Oliver Crom- 
well. Two photographs on the mantel piece 
of a handsome young officer in the Scots 
Guards remind one that the distinguished 
lawyer had a son at the front for nearly 
three years* Like father, like son ; Mr. Deane 
is himself a colonel, having resigned the 
command of the 2tst Middlesex Volunteers 
five years ago. Over his bookshelf is a 
row of interesting photographs representing 
Colonel Bargrave Deane in various positions 
as head of this regiment, A good shot, Mr. 
Deane is also a member of the council of the 
National Rifle Association, in which he has 
always shown great interest. 

A capital likeness of the present Lord 
Chief Justice in these chambers is a reminder 

Turning next to the chambers of Mr. 
Lawson Walton, M.P., we find that they were 
formerly occupied by the present Lord 
Chancellor, who shared them with Mr. 
Poland, Q.C., now Sir Harry Poland. Sir 
Harry still has his name on the door, though 
he retired from practice in 1895, and he goes 
to Paper Buildings occasionally to consult law 
books and write letters. His room, adjoin- 
ing that of Mr. Walton, is now occupied by 
his cousin, Mr, Bodkin, a barrister with a 
very extensive practice. 

There is an air of distinction about Mr. 
Lawson Walton's room which is very invit- 
ing to the lay intruder. It commands a 
glorious view of the beautiful turf and foliage 
in the Temple Gardens, while in the distance 
one may descry the spire of St. Clement 
Danes and the flagstaff of the I,aw Courts. 
A man of cultivated artistic tastes— does he 
not reside among that eminent band of 
R«A. ! s who make Mel bury Road, Kensing- 
ton, their home? — Mr. Walton is a lover, 
and something of a connoisseur, of rare 
engravings and costly china, and examples of 


that Lord Alverstone's popularity with all 
members of the Bar is very great, for few 
chambers in the Temple seem to be 
without his portrait. Like the Lord 
Chief Justice, Mr. Deane has been a 
yachtsman in his younger days ; there are 
a couple of model yachts anchored in his 

by Google 

these are to he found in his chambers. The 
walls, except where they are hidden by law 
reports, are filled with valuable prints and 
engraved portraits, judges especially figuring 
in the latter category. As if to remind one 
that Chancellor Halsbury once sat in the 
room , the features of many of his predecessors 
in that high office look down on the visitor. 

Original from 




A signed portrait of the late Lord Russell of 
Killowen is another feature in this striking 
gallery. Lord Alverstonc is there, of course, 
and several other well-known contemporary 
judges The room is lit with electric light ; 
it has a handsome desk near the window 
covered with red morocco ; it has pieces of 
rare china placed on shelf and mantelpiece ; 
and altogether, with its delightful outlook, 
must be an enviable place to work in, 

Here a word may be said about the busy 
K.C.'s working hours. Mr. Walton, for 
example, sometimes goes straight to court 
at ten or half-past without calling at his 
chambers. He will robe there, plead there, 

often lunch there, and hold 
a good many short con- 
sultations in its busy atmo- 
sphere. When his cases 
are over for the day the ICG 
rushes over to his cham- 
bers, snatches a cup of tea, 
and Is then ready to hold his 
appointment consultations, 
which may or may not end 
by half-past six* If he is 
in the House, as Mr. Law- 
son Walton and others 
mentioned in this article 
are v his Parliamentary 
duties now claim his atten- 
tion until midnight, with 
only an occasional respite 
fur brief - reading if the 
Whips are not too exact- 
ing, Rarely does the lawyer- 
politician get home during 
the Session until the small 
hours have begun to chime ; 
Sundays and possibly two week-day evenings 
are alone vacant for domestic or social 

Mr. Marshall Hall, one of the most 
powerful advocates at the Bar, is another 
example in [joint. Yet, whether you see him 
early or late in the day, he always appears as 
if he had just come back from the long vaca- 
tion* When I was fortunate enough to catch 
him in his chambers at 3, Temple Gardens, 
about half-past four in the afternoon — after 
Mr. Hall had had a trying day in court, 
preceded by an enervating night in the House 
of Commons — he was as " fresh as a daisv." 





The former occupant of Mr, Marshall 
Hall's chambers, which embrace five good- 
sized rooms, was the late Sir Charles Hall, 
Recorder of London, who also had a seat in 
Parliament. The member for Southport 
has had thern for fifteen years, though he 
only took silk five years ago. Among other 
residents in the same set have been the Right 
Hon. J. \V\ Lowther, Chairman of Ways and 
Means in the Commons ; Mr. C. K. Francis, 
Metropolitan Police-court Magistrate; and 
the Hon, Sydney Holland 

H Here are some of Frank Lockwood's 

and of Mr, HalPs little girl, which is naturally 
given a place of honour on the mantel- 
shelf. But more interesting still from a 
personal point of view are the mementos 
of famous cases hanging on the walls with 
which Mr. Marshall Hall, as counsel, has 
been prominently associated. The mosf 
recent is the identical Bennett chain con- 
nected with the Yarmouth murder j as to 
whether it was a link or rope chain there was 
such a hot contest at the Old Bailey, Then 
in a little ante-room overlooking the gardens 
we are also reminded that Mr. Marshall Hall 


charming sketches," Mr. Hall will toll you 
as he passes swiftly round the room ; ** most 
of them were on exhibition after Lock wood 
died, and I prize them very highly." Sir 
Frank's inimitable drawings are too well 
known to need classification, but I may 
mention that Mr. Hall possesses among his 
collection that delightful rough-and-ready 
sketch which depicts " an honest citizen 
before and after cross-examination as to his 
crediu" A complete set of Vanity Fair legal 
cartoons encircles the room near the ceiling ; 
and there are other interesting portraits — 
notably of Dr. Alfred Hall, F.R.CP-, the 
father of the distinguished K.C, ; of I^ord 
Lindley, by I.eslie Ward ("Spy"); of Sir 
Forrest Fulton, now Recorder of London : 

by K: 



appeared in the Jabez Balfour trial by a pen- 
and-ink sketch depicting the Liberator 
prisoners in court. Despite the presence of 
these and other relics, the room is a very 
cheerful one, commanding a broad view of 
the flowing Thames; and when Mr. Hall 
bade me a genial adieu 1 was genuinely 
sorry to leave such enticing surroundings, 

Mr. Henry Fielding Dickens* K.C, has 
his chambers at No. 2, Paper Buildings, and 
here he was good enough to spare me a few 
minutes when I called to look at his rooms. 
He told me that they had had several well- 
known occupiers before he came in eight or 
nine years ago. Sir John Huddleston for- 
merly worked there* and both Lord Justice 
Original from 




Lopes and Sir Francis Jeune used them as 
chambers. Undoubtedly the most note^ 
worthy article in the room is the identical 
desk belonging to Charles Dickens, father of 
the K.C* Upon it the novelist wrote many 
of his immortal books at Gad's Hill, and he 
used it to pen his last letter before he died. 
This famous piece of furniture, justly prided 
by his son* is in excellent condition, and 
bears its present burden of weighty briefs 
with commendable fortitude. 

"I'm afraid," said Mr, Dickens, after I 
had admired the serenity of his quarters, 
"my life here has heen too matter-of-fact to 
yield any stones, but some time ago I had a 
rather peculiar experience, which shows how 

Court. Guided by the size of the waiting- 
room, comfortably furnished with easy chairs, 
it is not difficult to remember that, though he 
has scarcely been at the Bar fifteen years, 
Mr. Isaacs now possesses one of the largest 
practices, and his services are in the greatest 
demand. He read with Mr. I^awson Walton, 
and his subsequent career was so successful 
that no sooner had he been at the Bar the 
requisite ten years than he applied for silk. 
Mr. IsaacVs private room is essentially that 
of a keen, practical man. It is not over- 
furnished ; it is not too comfortable to 
suggest anything but hard work ; and it 
has a " devil's TJ table in close proximity to 
the leader's desk. Yet the apartment is by no 


absorbed one may become in one's cases. 
My old chambers were in Crown Office Row, 
not more than a few yards from here. Well, 
I had been in my present quarters about 
five years, when on returning from court one 
day, apparently in a very abstracted frame of 
mind, I went direct to Crown Office Row, 
mounted the stairs to my old floor, and had 
put the key in the door before I became 
aware of my mistake/* 

Next we are permitted to peep into the 
chambers of that rapidly-risen and brilliant 
advocate, Mr. Rufus Isaacs, K.C, who may 
be found on the first floor of No. 1, Garden 

by Google 

means sombre or cold. It must not be for- 
gotten that before he became a lawyer Mr 
Isaacs had been to sea and had been on the 
Stock Exchange. Wig-and-gown cartoons 
from Vanity Fair grace the walls in some 
profusion : once again we meet Lord Alver- 
stone, and there is a unique group showing 
all the judges on the Bench in 1897, the 
year the old U.CS. boy became a K.C 
Cheery Sir Frank Lock wood is also in the 
gallery, and so is Mr justice Bigham, who 
was the judge mainly responsible for Mr. 
Isaacs taking silk so early — the latter was 
afraid of the step, but the judge urged 
him to it* On the mantelpiece we have 

Original from 



excellent photographs of Mrs. Rufus Isaacs 
and her little son. Pausing while he reads 
through his briefs, Mr- Isaacs has only 
to look through the window opposite to 
obtain one of the finest views of Middle 
Temple Hall visible from any chambers in 
the venerable Temple* 

On entering the plainly-furnished chambers 
of Mr, Atherley- Jones, R + G, in Taper Build- 
ings, it is at once apparent that the dis- 
tinguished Common I^iw counsel is a poli- 
tician as well as a lawyer, A heap of Blue- 
books and Parliamentary papers occupies the 

a long tin case containing the full-bottom 
wig which Mr, Atherley-Jones is called upon 
to don when he pleads before the House of 
Lords; on the small> plain desk is the usual 
array of papers and red tape ; below them 
is a hard-bottomed chair, which is not the 
only sign that luxuries are taboo in this 
particular room. 

It is not a little strange that two cele- 
brated advocates who have repeatedly crossed 
swords together at the Old Bailey should 
both have had chambers for several years 
at No. 3, Temple Gardens. At one time 


whole of one corner, and their covers form 
practically the only touch of colour in the 
room. Mr. Atherley-Jones, who has been in 
Parliament now for seventeen years, is not a 
lawyer who regards his workroom as anything 
else ; it is modestly furnished and lacks any 
pictures whatever, save one of Joseph Hume, 
M.P., over the mantelpiece. Yet one is 
everywhere reminded that its tenant controls 
a large and growing practice. The telephone 
bell in the adjacent room is kept constantly 
ringing during the term, meaning that the 
K.C.'s clerk at the Law Courts is signal- 
ling his master that the case in which he 
appears is ahout to begin, In one corner is 



Mr. C. F. (Jill, K.C, occupied rooms just 
above those of Mr, Marshall Hall, and the 
two, of course, frequently passed each other 
on the stairs ; then Mr. (I ill came down 
to the first floor, and secured one of the 
finest rooms that the Temple can rent out to 
its most successful sons. The Recorder of 
Chichester made this position his quarters 
for six years, moving only a short while ago 
to new chambers in Brick Court, which have 
already known as tenants the late Lord 
Coleridge, Lord Justice Bowen, Mr. Justice 
Day, and the present Attorney -General, Sir 
Robert Tin lay. 

Mr, Gill's chambers at Temple Gardens — 
Original from 




which he shared with his brother, Mr. Arthur 
Gill, Junior Prosecuting Counsel to the 
Treasury, and in which he was good enough 
to give me a few minutes of his ever occu- 
pied time — were eminently suited for concen- 
trated, anxious work such as falls every day 
to the lot of this busiest perhaps of all 
KG's. Unlike most of his contemporaries, 
Mr* Gill prefers a large table to work at in- 
stead of a desk ; and his chair is so pitched 
that the once passing steamers on the Thames 
could be easily seen beyond the expansive 
greensward of the matchless gardens. There 
is an American roll -top desk near the 
window, but that is confined to correspon- 
dence; nor should one forget the American 
bookcase, which is of such a character that it 
may always receive additional shelves without 
upsetting the sense of proportion, Mr, Gill is 
a very conscien- 
tious barrister, 

and takes infinite 

pains over every 

detail connected 

with his briefs. 

He is one 

of the few lead- 
ing counsel who 

sfciy later than 

half-past six 

at their cham- 
bers, and he is 

no respecter of 

Saturdays as a 

holiday. Though 

special rooms 

are provided at 

the Law Courts 

for consultations, he prefers to hold as many 
as he possibly can in his own room in the 
Temple, where his books are handy 3 and 
where there is a quietude surprising to one 
who has never sat in a barrister's den. 

Mr. Gill f s name is so often in the papers 
associated with a sensational case that it is 
not surprising to find the walls of his room 
hung with a series of prints and drawings 
illustrating many memorable trials, among 
which one may mention the famous baccarat 
case, in which the King was called as 
a witness, Mr. Gill possesses several rare 
prints depicting among other scenes the 
interior of the old Exchequer Court at the 
Guildhall, and the Court of King's Bench 
and Court of Common Pleas, both for- 
merly in Westminster Hall. There is 
also a complete set of Mr. Frith's notable 

drawings, con- 
cluding with a 
trial at the Old 
Bailey, entitled 
"The Spider 
and the Fly/' 
Many portraits of 
oast and present 
legal lights, in- 
cluding the ori- 
ginal pen-and- 
ink drawing of 
Sir Peter Edlin 
by w Spy," pre- 
sented by the 
artist to Mr. Gill, 
complete an in- 
teresting and 
varied gallery. 


by Google 

Original from 

A Comedy of Wealth. 

By Huan Mee. 

T is absolutely not to be 
thought of for a single 
moment," she said, and a 
pretty little frown gathered 
upon her pretty little white 
forehead, hiding itself t as 
though half-ashamed , beneath her waving 
golden curls, 

11 Not to be considered for one single 
moment/* he emphatically agreed, 

u We are not the least little bit i\\ love with 
cne another," 

"And we're never likely to be," 

She looked just a trifle annoyed at the 
nonchalant manner in which he had com- 
pleted the sentence for her, but loftily 
shrugged her shoulders, poured out a cup of 
tea, and smiled sweetly as she passed it to 

"It's so nice," she said, softly, "that we 
are of one mind. Now, suppose you had 
been a little attracted by me, and, of course, 
anxious to keep your inheritance, how awk- 
ward it would have been, seeing that I could 
never think of marrying you ! " 

" It is pleasant to arrange things so easily," 
he acquiesced, helping himself to a slice of 
cake, " Only fancy, if you had been madly 
in love with me" 

"There's no need to be ridiculous," she 
interrupted, speaking thickly through a piece 
of bread and butter that indignation had 
wedged in her throat. 

" I only said suppose," he answered, mildly, 
" If that had been so, things would have 
been very unpleasant when I could not see 
my way to marry you. I should have always 
felt that I had, as it were, robbed you of 
your inheritance. My whole life would have 
been haunted by the thought — poor little 
girl, poor little Bertha!" 

" Captain Leighbury ! " 

" Miss Cameron ! " 

" Is it necessary to confide in me what 
you would have thought had things been 
different from what they are? Particularly 
when those thoughts necessitate such free- 
dom with my Christian name. We are look- 
ing upon this matter quite from a business 


point of view. If we saw our way to marry, 
then a certain amount of money ■" 

" A very respectable income " 

" Would come to us, We do not see our 
way, and there is an end to the matter, I'm 
very sorry that you will lose — — " 

" Oh, don't mention that> we need not 
speak of the money." 

*'It's simply that we're unsuited to one 
another, then ; let us leave it at that The 
type of man I admire is the tall, broad- 
shouldered, athletic Englishman, thick -set, 
fair, and fresh - coloured, a man whom a 
woman can admire because of his strength." 

11 Awkward in the house/ 1 he murmured, 
reflectively gazing at his carefully -arranged 
hair and dagger-pointed moustache in the 
mirror opposite, t( People of that sort are 
no good except out of doors. They're 
always knocking over little tables, breaking 
chairs, treading on your train or your toes. 
They're all right in a field, but anything 
smaller cramps them." 

He gazed thoughtfully at his perfect patent 
boot and then crossed one leg over the other 
and contemplated the artistic set of his light 
grey trousers* 

44 Just talking of likes and dislikes," he 
said* indolently, "the girl who fascinates 
me is the tall, graceful girl : the one who 
looks dressed to perfection in just a simple 
tailor-made gown, with while collar and 
cuffs/ 1 

She, too, glanced at her reflection before 
she answered : a charming reflection of a 
dainty fragment of femininity, a little vision 
of dimples and sparkling eyes, unruly wavy 
hair, ribbons, laces, and furbelows, 

i( Those willowy women get scraggy at 
thirty," she snapped, M and your simple 
tailor-made gown costs about ten times as 
much as this one I've got on, and the stiff 
collars hind one's neck like a vice and scratch 
the skin off one's throat and make one's life 
unendurable ; and then those slender women 
lace so tightly that they get indigestion and 
their noses turn red.' 1 She stopped, out of 
breath, and buried her plump, dimpled little 
chin in a filmy bow of chiffon at her neck. 
Original from 




** Maybe," he answered^ loftily, " It is 
all a matter of taste. If all men's likes and 
dislikes were the same, some women would 
have to make up even more than they do," 

He placed his cup upon the table as he 
spoke, and took his hat from the chair beside 

**Of course, 1 shall write to-night and 
explain to my uncle's lawyer that we do not 
see our way to fall in with the ridiculous 
proposal set forth in the imbecile will, and 
there's an end of the whole affair," 

u It will be rather an awkward letter to 
compose," she said, reflectively* u Perhaps 
it would be as well if we wrote the same. 
You might write yours now and I could 
copy it." 

" Certainly, It is awkward. It looks as 
if weVe mad." 

She spread some dainty note-paper and 
envelopes before him as he crossed the room 
to a table by 
the window and 
stood waiting by 
his side. 

* l A ( J J nib, 
Captain Leigh- 
bury ?" 

41 No, a fine 
pen, please." 

"I think a 
•J 1 is so much 
more character- 
istic, so much 
bolder and more 
manly," she 
answered, ma- 

"It would 
suit your idea!, 
Miss Cameron, 
but then, you 
see, 1 am not 
that, and so 
prefer a fine nib. 
Now, then, had 
you thought of 
anything you 
wished to say ? w 

" Not altogether," she answered, taking a 
seat opposite to him, resting her elbows on 
the table, and nibbling the top of a quilL "I 
want to say that I cannot marry except where 
I can give the whole love of my heart, and 
that such love as that cannot be bought and 
sold, and cannot be inspired by money, only 
by the » 

"That will only make him laugh." 

i( Laugh ! " she ejaculated, indignantly. 

▼dim.— A 

Digitized by C.OOgle 


" I mean if I wrote it," he cried, hastily ; 
" you said we were both to write the same, 
you know. Better say we've met, found one 
another unsuitable, incompatible tastes, etc., 
and so resign all claim, and — well, that's 
really all, isn't it ? " 

The pens scratched over the paper together, 
and ceased almost at the same 111 omen L 
" Twenty-four, isn't it ? " 
"Twenty-four, Lincoln's Inn Fields." 
"There, now, that's over and all restraint 
is removed." She deliberately shredded off 
the feather of ihe quill and turned to him 
again. "May I give you some more tea?" 
" 1 think not, thank you ; I must be leaving. 
We may, of course, meet again." 

" We're sure to* I shall always feel so 

grateful to you for " 

" Not falling in love with you? * 
" No, for your tact ; the position was so 

"Well, it's all 
over now. Shall 
I post your letter 
with mine ? w 
M If you will." 
He extended 
his hand towards 

" Good-bye, 
Miss Cameron. 
I trust when we 
meet again we 
shall seem like 
old friends." 

u I hope so/' 
she answered, 
with a twinkle 
in her eyes, 
41 For your sake 
I'll try and like 
her, even though 
I know shell go 
from the willowy 
stage to the 

11 For your 
sake, Miss Came- 
ron, I'll take 
him in hand when you've found him, and 
tench him to walk across the room without 
capsizing the furniture and destroying the 

" It's too kind of you. Good-bye-" 

He left, and she walked back into the 
room, glanced at herself in the mirror, 
laughed a little laugh of amusement, care- 
fully wheeled the most comfortable chair 
Original from 

\ .\(\ 


round into the light, and curled herself up in 
it with the latest society novel for company. 
The hero was the embodiment of the mascu- 
line hero she had sketched. 

" Silly twaddle," she murmured, peevishly, 
and then skipped two chapters, read a bit of 
the fifth, jabbed into the middle of the 
book and broke the back of the binding in 
twisting it over, glanced at the end, and 
flung the volume on the floor. 

" Utter rubbish,' 1 she said, glaring at the 
unoffending novel ; and then her eyes turned 
to the blue sky without, and she sat still, 
looking straight before her. 

He posted the letters, jumped into a 
hansom, drove to his club, and sat down to 
his dinner with the air of a man who intends 
to thoroughly enjoy himself, then stigmatized 
every dish as the 
worst ever pro- 
duced and the 
finest wines in 
London as vine- 
gar ; almost quar- 
relled with one 
of his greatest 
friends over a 
matter he didn't 
care the toss of 
a h al fpen n y 
about ; played 
two games of 
billiards, lost 
them both by a 
couple of score, 
and swore at the 
cabman who 
drove him to his 
flat because he 
allowed a fire- 
engine to pass 

A hassock lay 
upon the rug, 
and he propelled 
it with a tremen- 
dous kick across 

his sitting-room into the corner and smashed 
a jar he had paid twenty guineas for a 
month before. Then he felt better. All of 
which incidents go to prove that an identi- 
cal emotion has totally different effects upon 
the male and female mind, but in either 
case the result is distinctly unpleasant. 

Next morning found Captain Leigh bury 
en route for Paddmgton because he told him- 
self he was sick of London, which was too 
beastly hot for anything ; and two days after- 
wards Bertha Cameron remembered a long- 


by GOOglC 

standing invitation, and told herself she 
would never look her friend in the face again 
if she neglected her longer. 

Both sighed a deep sigh of satisfaction as 
their respective trains started, and murmured 
that now there was no fear of even an acci- 
dental meeting in town, and it was a good 
thing to get away and have a little change 
and enjoyment. And this, too, proves that 
human nature is so full of deceit that not 
only does it lie to itself, but is hypocritical 
enough to pretend to believe its own fabri- 
cations. ■ 

A month after he had left town Captain 
Leigh bury discovered he was su fie ring from 
a mysterious malady. Its chief symptom 
was a desire to shun the society of human 
beings, all of whom seemed loud and aggres- 

sive in their 
manner and in- 
clined to vuU 
garity, and to sit 
alone by the sea 
or in some other 
spot equally 
select and exclu- 
sive A medical 
friend at once 
diagnosed the 
case as torpid 
liver, and the 
captain immedi- 
ately diagnosed 
the friend as a 
thundering ass, 
and took a six- 
teen-mile tramp 
by himself: ten 
tnilesout through 
the most roman- 
tic and arcadian 
scenery of Eng- 
land, and six 
miles back along 
the sands by the 

He did not 
pass more than a dozen people, and had 
really only recollections of one. She 
was a tall, dark girl, dressed in a per- 
fectly-fitting tailor-made gown, only relieved 
by an inch of spotless white collar and cuffs ; 
and the captain, quite unknowingly, flung 
such a look of undisguised scorn in her 
direction that she was awake half the night 
wondering if she had cut somebody of 
importance whom she ought to have recog- 

A mile from liome his eyes lighted upon 
Original from 




something that brought him to a standstill 
with a jerk, and a light whistle of surprise 
came from between his teeth. The sea was 
as smooth as glass, so that the water lapped 
the hard golden sands without a sound or a 
ripple, and somewhere about a couple of 
hundred yards from the 
shore the dazzling blue of 
the sea was stabbed by 
a glaring circle of red. 
It was the back of a sun- 
shade resting upon the 
shoulder of a girl who, 
seated upon a rock, faced 
seawards, arid a respect- 
able stretch of water 
sparkled between her and 
the sands. 

"Silly idiot," the cap- 
tain murmured, with scath- 
ing criticism, as his whistle 
of amazement ended. 
" Gone to sleep, I sup- 
pose, and it will be a case 
of hysterics when she 
awakens. Halloa ! " He 
ended with a wild shout, 
which did not carry to 
the distant rock, and 
the sunshade remained 

u Women are awfully 
senseless/' he murmured* 
presently^ as his throat 
grew hoarse with shout- 
ing, " That is, most of 
them, w he hastily cor- 
rected himself. 4i Not a 
boat within a mile, and 
in half an hour the water 
will touch her toes, and 
then she'll squeal and 
fall in." 

" Halloa, there ! Halloa!" 
The sunshade remained as undisturbed as 
the Pyramids, and methodically he took 
off bis coat and vest, folded them and 
dropped them on the sand, kicked off 
his shoes, made another caustic remark 
as to the wisdom of the feminine sex, and 
walked slowly into the sea. With his eyes 
upon the brilliant sunshade, which seemed 
almost hypnotic in the force with which it 
riveted his attention, he walked onwards, and 
then, presently, as if it were slowly dawning 
upon him that something different was 
happening from what he expected, his pace 
became gradually slower, and, coming at last 
to a standstill, he gazed intently, first at the 

Digitized by GOOQIC 

sunshade, then back at the shore, and finally 
at his feet. 

He had covered two-thirds of the journey 
of rescue, and the water was flowing gently 
round his ankles, the mean depth somewhere 
between three and a half and four inches. 


" Funny go/* he remarked, thrusting his 
hands into his trousers 7 pockets. " I suppose 
it drops suddenly, Shall find myself up to 
my neck in a minute," 

He cautiously moved onwards again. Once 
he opened his mouth to shout, but he shut it 
sharply, for an idea came into his mind that 
if a sudden change did not take place he 
should walk quietly back, put on his coat and 
shoes, and go home* 

Thirty yards from the rock he smiled with 
grim satisfaction. The water suddenly rose 
to six inches ; but it was all deceit, only a 
slight dip in the ground- In a moment it 
was down to four inches again, and an 
ejaculation of annoyance sprang from his 



lips. The sunshade moved, and the girl 
rose to her feet and turned towards him. 

11 Captain Leiglihury ! " 

(l Miss Cameron ! " 

He splashed through the dividing water 
and clasped her hand. " What a glorious 
surprise!" he said, enthusiastically, as he 
stepped upon the lower part of the rock. 
"Don't let me disturb you." 

" But what on earth are you doing ? n she 
said, with eyes dancing and a glow upon her 

" Paddling, I think they call it," he 
answered, unblushingly, " I didn't notice; 
anyone was near," 

" But where's your coat ? " 

thought He thought what a fool he must 
look sitting there without a coat or vest on, 
and wondered why he couldn't think of 
something intelligent to say, and she— well, 
she was sufficiently near to perfection not to 
need to trouble to think about herself, so 
she wondered who had embroidered his silk 
braces, which were obviously done by hand. 

" Glorious afternoon," he burst forth at 
last, and then following the fixed gaze of her 
eyes he found they were fastened on his pale 
blue socks, which were obtruding themselves 
with ostentatious obviousness as he crossed 
one leg over the other. She was too polite 
to refer to his eccentricity of paddling with 
his socks on t and he was wise enough to 


" On the beach ; too hot for coats," he 
answered, and he looked the part to perfec- 
tion ; as hot as any man lias looked or is 
ever likely to. 

The captain perched himself upon a lower 
corner of the rock and she resumed her seat 
upon the higher ledge, and then they both 

Digitized by G< 

content himself with putting his feet as far 
as possible out of sight 

"Awfully jolly little place out here," he 
remarked, presently ; " nice and quiet, but 
I sup|K)se you know the sea has caught 

" So the truth has come out at bat," she 
Original from 




cried, with a laugh. "Own it. You came 
here to rescue me." 

44 I didn't know it was you." 

" But you came to rescue someone — a 
lady. You knew she must be young, or she 
wouldn't be clambering about rocks; you 
hoped she was pretty " 

" And she's both " 

" That's not the point. You wanted your 
name in the papers. ' Gallant Rescue ' in 
big print. * Noble Deed by Captain Leigh- 
bury/ and then a column of thrilling details. 
Now, didn't you?" 

"I believe I did," he answered, with a 
twinkle in his eye. " A column of details, 
and you know how those accounts end. * It 
is rumoured that the heroine and hero of this 
adventure, who met under such romantic 
circumstances, will shortly ' " 

" Instead of which," she quickly inter- 
rupted, with a glowing colour in her cheek, 
"there are never more than six inches of 
water between here and the shore, and I've 
spent every afternoon this week in the very 
same spot" 

4fc But, after all, six inches are six inches, 
Miss Cameron ; you're caught." 

" I've never been before." 

« But " 

" Paddling, I believe they call it, Captain 

The captain almost blushed, and looked 
quite grieved. 

"Oh, it's all right," she continued, confi- 
dentially ; " it's like a desert island, and 
there's generally three or four of us perched 
up here, only to-day they were all too lazy. 
But you'd better be going." 

" That means you want me to." 

" Of course I do." 

" Let me carry you.' 

"No, thank you," she answered, with a 
smile just dawning in the corners of her 
mouth, and her eyes resting for an instant 
with a softened look upon his face. 

She extended her hand towards him, 
and he held it for a second as she 

" I want to thank you," she said, softly ; 
" it was a brave deed to come to the rescue 
of a woman who seemed so far away. You 
started with the thought of a long swim to 

save a girl who was cut off by the sea " 

She broke off and laughed a laugh of irresis- 
tible merriment, until the moisture in her 
eyes became tears of laughter as she thought 
of the long swim in the six inches of water, 
and he, although as savage as a bear, laughed 

Digitized by Google 

also, because he had the God-given sense of 

Then, with a murmured adieu, he turned 
his back upon her and started towards the 
shore, too infatuated to notice that this 
time the water did reach almost to his 

44 Captain Leighbury ! " 

The voice came with an imploring accent, 
and he faced round instantly and saw her 
standing upon the lower ledge where he had 
been sitting. The water was just eddying 
over the top, running round the edges of her 
little shoes and then trickling back again as if 
it repented of the sin of wetting them, and 
she was standing with her skirts drawn 
closely around her. 

The captain noticed her ankles were pretty 
and nodded approvingly. She was really 
very bewitching. 

"There is something gone wrong," she 
said, quaveringly. "The sea has never come 
so far up before." 

" I expect it's an unusually high tide," he 
remarked, contemplatively ; " something to 
do with spring, or neap, or something of that 
kind. I believe I've read about them. I'd 
better hurry away, or you won't be able to 
get off." 

44 My gracious ! " she ejaculated, gazing 
shorewards, " there are all my friends on the 

The captain followed the direction of her 
look of consternation, and his eyes rested 
upon a bevy of girls evincing the wildest of 
well-bred feminine excitement. 

44 Was there ever anything so awfully 
provoking and annoying ? " she exclaimed, 
with rising colour ; t4 and it's all your 
fault » 

44 My dear Miss Cameron " 

" I should have left long ago if you hadn't 
been here talking. My dear man, do some- 
thing — do something ! Think what a pair of 
lunatics we must look from the beach : you 
standing there without a coat and vest, with 
your hands in your pockets, and me up here 
with my feet wringing wet." 

44 You'll fall in if you don't keep still," he 
said, reprovingly. 44 What shall I do ? " 

44 You'd better carry me," she said, slowly. 
44 That is, if you don't mind. I'm rather 

He took her hand and swung her into his 

arms, and the thought came to him that it 

was good to be in the land of the living as 

he felt her hand resting upon his shoulder 

and her hair lightly brushing his cheek. 

44 This is awful," she murmured, as he 
Original from 






started towards the shore, " What on earth 
shall I say to them ? n 

"Shall I walk in the sea till we get 
round the headland ?" he asked, flippantly, 
the sense of humour still strong upon 

"That's five miles off, and they'll follow 
us on the beach." 

il I'd like to go on for ever." 

u Don't be ridiculous, it makes the position 
worse. What am I to say to them ? n 

"Say nothing. Give me a shilling and 
say ' Thank you, my man/ and I'll touch 
my cap and go off Then they'll think Fm 
a fisherman," 

" It isn't a matter for jest," she answered, 

u I'm not jesting. It's serious and I know 
it. Think how we must look from the beach. 
It ; s obvious that I've risked my life to save 
yours, We must follow precedent, there's 
no alternative ; I shall have to marry you 
now, whether I like it or not." 

by Google 

" Captain Leigh- 
bury, put me down." 
" I won't I'll never 
put you down till you 
say you'll marry me. 
I'll make myself a 
modern flying Dutclv 
man. I'll walk all 
round England fifty 
yards from the shore.'' 
He turned at a 
right angle as he 
spoke, a yd started 
walking parallel with 
the beach. 

" Oh, don't, please, 
don't," she cried, in 
dismay; "they'll think 
we're mad" 

" Will you marry 
me, then ? " 

"I don't know. I'll 

"You know I'm in 
love with you, and 
you are with me." 

" Oh, look at them ! 
They're walking along 
the beach waving their 

"Well, say you 

"Yes, I will," she 
said, softly, 

" There's a dear 
girl. Now I'm going to kiss you." 

"If you do I'll never speak to you again 
as long as I live." 

" Yes, you will ; it will be all right I'm 
going to slip, then you'll clutch me round the 
neck in fright, and it will be all over in no 
time, and no one will be any the wiser*" 

The captain's manoeuvre was performed so 
realistically that a series of sudden apprehen- 
sive screams came from the beach, and two 
minutes afterwards he deposited his burden 
upon the sands. 

" Oh, how mean!" she said, reprovingly, as 
she shook out her skirts. 

" But you'll keep your word ? " 
*• I will if you really wish it," she said, 
ingenuously; "but if we marry within the 
year we must take the money. We shall 
have to wait."' 

" I wouldn't wait ten months if they made 
me lake ten millions with you," the captain 
exclaimed, decisively. "We'll say this day 
month, or sooner, if possible," 

Original from 

■ ■ 


Eccentric Musicians. 

By J. F. Rowbotham, M.A., Author of "The History of Music/' 

ERHAPS the most 
eccentric man who 
ever lived was the 
great composer 
Beethoven. He 
was certainly the 
most eccentric 
musician. Audiences who 
are only familiar with those 
wonderful webs and tapes- 
tries of sound, his sonatas and symphonies, 
would scarcely imagine what a strange 
being existed behind the veil Even his 
music he did not write like ordinary people, 
but had a remarkable notation, often with- 
out lines, as 
may be seen in 
the specimen 
reproduced on 
the following 
page, which re- 
sembled the 
contents of a 
pep pe r-box 
strewed upon 
paper, and was 
often so illegible 
that he could 
not read it him- 

self. This notation he confided to little 
pocket-books, often very simply made — of 
paper loosely stitched together, of the backs 
of letters, or evenof old envelopes — and thus 
he jotted down the priceless imaginations of 
his fancy whenever they occurred to him. 
This was at all sorts of places — when out 
walking, when dining, when conversing with 
a friend. In the middle of crowded streets 
a man with wild, untidy hair would be 
suddenly seen to stop, at the risk of a 
collision with the bustling crowd around 
him, and write feverishly for two or three 
minutes on a piece of paper which he 
held in his hand. This was Beethoven, jot- 
ting down, per- 
haps, the theme 
of a sonata des- 
tined to be 

At a restaurant 
the astonished 
waiter would 
find the guest 
whom he was 
on the point of 
serving wholly 
abstracted from 
earth, with knife 

iitj^ j±t/— *4M-**?-$ik 

£ -A,i\r>** 

f O 




I 5 2 


and fork and plate pushed ruthlessly aside him a well-known figure in the Vienna 
and his fingers plying a lead -pencil instead, streets, especially in the outskirts, where he 
with which he dotted various pieces of paper, generally took his rambles. The people as 


,~„ — , 

Jj i 

7> *- 




Vv if ■ ■ 


ll X 





growling and muttering all the time. This 
was Beethoven at his dinner; and many such 
a dinner he took. In the same way, if a 
friend were con- 
versing with the ^^^M 
composer t h e 
might at any 
minute see Beet- 
hoven wholly in- 
attentive to what 
he was saying, with 
his eyes fixed on 
vacancy and his 
thoughts absorbed 
in some musical 
motif. The best 
plan under such 
circumstances was 
to break off the 
colloquy and leave 
the musician to 

One of Beet- 
hoven's eccentrici- 
ties was to go out 
for walks usually 
in the pouring 
rain. The pace 
at which he 
walked, coupled 
with the peculiar 
weather which he 
chose for his con- 
stitutionals t made 



he passed turned and looked at him with a 
puzzled air, and the children of the town 
called after him, H There goes Beethoven, 

who likes getting 
wet ! " To these 
|^_ and similar gibes 

he was profoundly 
inattentive, be- 
cause during his 
walks his mind 
was w holly occu- 
pied with his 
music. But on 
other occasions he 
was peculiarly apt 
to take offence. 
In his lodgings- 
he was a confirmed 
bachelor, living a 
solitary life — the 
slightest thing 
done to cross him, 
the most puerile 
cause sometimes, 
would induce him 
to give notice to 
quit. Such notices 
were always instan- 
taneous in taking 
effect— he was off 
next morning; with 
the result that 
sometimes he was 
paying for no 

by K: 



Original from 


J 53 

fewer than three different lodgings at one and 
Che same time, which after engaging for a 
month he had abruptly quitted in a day. 

After playing the piano for hours at a 
stretch — his favourite diversion of an after- 
noon — his hands often became hot. He 
delighted to cool them by the simple ex- 
pedient of taking his water jug and pouring 
cold water over them till the basin was full 
This would have been well enough had he 
not sometimes forgotten that the basin was a 
highly necessary item in this pastime. When 
intoxicated with musical inspiration he often 
seized the water-jug and walked about the 
room, pouring the fluid first on one hand, 
then on the 
other, ignoring 
th e fa c t or 
existence of a 
basin alto- 
gether. This 
be ha viour, 
which was by 
no means un- 
common, . no 
doubt o/ten 
led to the pre- 
cipitate re- 
treats from his 
lodgings which 
we advened to 
as one of his 
eccentricities. j 
But what is, 
perhaps, still 
more interest- 
ing is that this 
water-jug — the 
cause of so 
many conten- 
tions — is still 
in existence, 
in the posses- 
sion of a Ger- 
man family, 

and was some time ago offered to the present 
writer at a high price — too high, however, 
for purchase. 

Mozart can scarcely be called an eccentric 
man in the sense that Beethoven was. On 
the contrary, he was to some extent a man of 
the world, with a certain amount of savoir 
vivre* Vet one of the most eccentric things 
in history must be credited to his share. 
This was a written document, which he drew 
up in the presence of a notary, at the request 
of his future mother-in law, binding himself to 
many one of this lady's daughters within a 

YvLmxy.^ 20- 

by L^OOgle 

period of three years, if she would have him — ■ 
the said daughter always having the liberty to 
refuse the composer if she wished to link 
her fortunes with somebody else. In case 
Mozart was unable to carry out his inten- 
tion, through lack of means at the time or 
through the lady's refusal, he pledged himself 
to support her in the condition of a stranger, 
no matte r where she lived or how she lived, 
all her life long by the payment of an annual 
sum to be regularly disbursed in quarterly or 
half-yearly instalments. We venture to say 
that such a contract has no parallel in 

The composer Wagner was full of eccen- 
tricities. One 
of his most ex- 
was to have his 
grave construc- 
ted during his 
lifetime in the 
back garden of 
his house, at 
a convenient 
distance off 
and sufficiently 
concealed, so 
that if he were 
in the mood 
he might go 
and have a 
look at it ; if 
not, he might 
forget its exist- 
e n c e a 1 1 o- 
gether. But 
this was not 
the worst of it. 
When he had 
friends to din- 
ner, in the 
same way that 
a skeleton was 
thrown on the 
table during an 
Egyptian feast, Wagner was accustomed to 
break off the thread of the conversation very 
suddenly and commence declaiming on 
eternity and the grave. 

** My friends," he would say, " in the midst 
of life we are in death. Death is a lot which 
we all must face — even so great a man as 
myself. I, too, must die, I should like 
very much to show you my grave, if you will 
allow me." 

And starting up from the dinner-table, 
with its array of dishes and atmosphere of 
cookery, he would lead the way, followed by 
Original from 





his submissive troop of guests, to the seques- 
tered corner of the garden where his grave 
was. There, amid the damp and the gloom, 
he would regale his companions with further 
dissertations on eternity and his own dis- 
solution, and then take them back to finish 
their dinner with what appetites they might 

For pure eccentricity Haydn, perhaps, 
stands next to Beethoven in the history of 
musicians. There can be nothing more 
comical to the fancy than the contrast 
between the studies of these two men — 
Beethoven's room a mass of confusion, with 
the composer stalking amidst it, himself 
the genius of disorder, and Haydn's apart- 
ment, where he likewise wrote his immortal 
works, which was a pattern of primness and 
neatness such as the most fastidious old 
maid could hardly show. In order to com- 
pose to his heart's satisfaction Haydn found 
it necessary to be up with the lark, on the 
assumption that while the birds were singing 
musical ideas came most freely to his mind. 
He first satisfied himself that every article in 
the study, every knick - knack, was in its 

while he pleaded always twirled a piece of 
string between his finger and thumb, which 
the wags of that day called " the thread of 
his remarks." In a similar way the wits of 
Haydn's time might criticise the composer's 
tenacity for wearing the favoured jewel on 
his finger by declaring that any music 
written without it "had not the proper ring."' 
Meyerbeer courted inspiration by a 
different method. The fresh morning air, 
the songs of birds, were as nothing to his 
saturnine spirit But the rumbling of 
thunder, the flashing of lightning, the plash 
of a steady downpour of rain never failed to 
inspire him with a rush of musical thoughts. 
For the purpose of enjoying this peculiar 
accompaniment and source of inspiration to 
the full Meyerbeer had a chamber con- 
structed for himself at the top of his house, 
where he could expose himself without 
restraint to the fury of the elements, 
with nothing but a glass partition to shield 
him from the weather. We have heard of 
such structures for the benefit of amateur 
photographers, but it is strange to find a great 

proper place and in perfect 
order, and then he sat down 
to write* But the most extra- 
ordinary thing we have not 
yet said. At this early hour 
in the morning, for the pur- 
pose of prosecuting his studies, 
he invariably donned full 
Court dress, with bobwig, 
sword, hat, and ruffles. In no other attire 
could he pen a line — so he averred. He must, 
moreover, have on his finger a particular ring, 
which he greatly prized—otherwise, such was 
his fidgety nature, not a musical idea would 
come into his head. We all remember the 
story told by Addison of the barrister who 

Digitized by G* 


musician adopting a similar method, not in 
order to develop negatives, but to gather 
thoughts, Meyerbeer was always particularly 
jealous of these u stolen interviews " with 
Nature. He guarded them as religiously, 
and took advantage of them as methodically, 
as if they were real musical stimulants— a nd t 




indeed* in his case they certainly were, He 
could sniff a storm coming on with the same 
unerring. certainty that a swallow or a crow 
can foretell it in the fields. 

The story is current about him that on one 
occasion — when there was a dinner-party at 
his house and he seated at the head of the 
table — after the first spoonful of soup there 
was a rumbling of thunder, and to the 
astonishment of everybody the host stalked 
out of the room to 
take advantage of 
his favourite 
musical stimulus, 
leaving his unfor- 
tunate guests to 
take care of them- 
selves for the rest 
of the evening. 

The Italian 
composer, Doni- 
zetti — once, when 
M Lucia di Lam- 
mermoor " was the 
rage, the most 
po pu lar m usic i an i n 
Europe — courted 
inspiration by an- 
other means quite 
as eccentric but 
infinitely more in- 
jurious. He was 
accustomed to 
immure himself in 
a room, with a 
quantity of music- 
paper, pen and 
ink, and three or 
four coffee - pots 
full of coffee. He 
commenced im- 
bibing these when 
he began to write, 
and continued till 
the supply was ex- 
hausted. Then he 
ordered in more, 
and when that was 
finished another 
supply. The amount of coffee which he drank 
was fabulous — yet he deemed it entirely 
necessary for his inspiration. As the result of 
such an extraordinary habit the once hand- 
some man contracted the yellow - coloured 
complexion which we are apt to associate 
with a Chinese or a Hindu, his lips were 
generally j^t black, his nervous system broke 
down, and this brought in its train the pre- 
mature decay of his faculties. 

Digitized by Google 


The eccentricity of Rossini was of a very 
different type to this. He was the laziest 
man alive, and his eccentricity was chiefly 
due to that cause. He was seldom out of 
bed before midday ; and on waking in the 
morning, if the day were dull and did not 
please him, or if he had nothing particular 
to do, he was quite capable of turning over on 
his pillow and shouting to his servant^ "Call 
me to-morrow at the same time as to-day.' 1 

Whereupon he 
would promptly go 
to sleep for the 
next twenty ■ four 
hours. He wrote 
a great deal of his 
music in bed — 
perhaps most of it 
It was his habit to 
have a roll of 
music-paper and a 
pencil always lying 
on a table by his 
bedside at night, 
so that in the 
morning, without 
disturbing himself 
in the least, and 
while still com- 
fortably tucked up 
}}\ the bedclothes, 
he might under- 
take the composi- 
tion of an opera. 
One day after 
writing a beautiful duet in this manner, 
and almost completing it, the sheet of 
music unfortunately rolled off the bed 
and continued its dance to some distance 
on the floor, quite beyond the com- 
poser's reach. What was to be done ? 
To get up and fetch it would totally dis- 
arrange the bed-clothes and spoil his 
comfort for the rest of the morning, He 
resolved, therefore, rather than disturb 
himself, to write a new duet altogether; 
and, having forgotten exactly how the first 
one went, he invented an entirely new 
melody for the second. In this way the 
opera of u II Turco in Italia' 1 has two duets 
for one situation, and singers can always 
choose the one they like best 

The eccentricities of Liszt sprang not from 
laziness or bad habits, but from pure caprice 
or vanity. He was one of the vainest men 
alive and the slave of a thousand caprices. 
He would only play the piano when he was 
in the mood, and if pressed to do so against 
his will he often became grossly insulting to 




his entertainers, or even to his concert 

Once at Rome he had been invited to a 
large dinner-party at an American lady's, 
who prided herself on her musical taste and 
enthusiasm. After dinner, when several 
amateur performers had exhibited their skill, 
Liszt was very politely requested to play a 
nwT&au* But, not being in the humour, he 

pieces, but Liszt's — the great event of the 
evening — was yet to come. By his frowns 
and fidgeting it was plain that he was not m 
the vein for playing. "Do not press him," 
whispered a mutual friend to the host; *<it 
is dangerous," But, deaf to such good advice, 
the master of the house began to earnestly 
solicit Liszt to play. The great pianist at 
length walked up to the piano and, turning 


refused. The hostess pressed. The com- 
poser became obstinate — then rude. At last 
he strode to the piano, and dashing off one 
brilliant cascade of notes hurried out of the 
room, with the remark, " There, madam, 
I have paid for my dinner," On another 
occasion he was invited to play at a soiree 
in Paris, but found himself not in the mood 
to do so. Everybody had performed their 

by CiC 


his back to. the keyboard, in that position 
performed a popular air, playing with his 
hands behind him. 

Sometimes his behaviour to his pupils was 
most extraordinary ^ such as would not have 
been tolerated from any man but him. A 
young man was performing in presence of a 
class a rhapsody by the eccentric composer. 
The piece proceeded, and Liszt walked about 
Original from 



the room fuming and muttering to himself: 

"* That is not how 1 should play it 1 What 

fingering ! What expression!" At length 

he placed himself on the bench by the young 

player, and with one hand repeated in the 

treble the notes which the performer was 

delivering farther down the keyboard. Then 

Liszt took, two hands, and every moment 

encroached more and more on the keyboard 

and on the seat ; till at last, having pushed 

the young map well down into the bass, with 

one vigorous jerk he precipitated him from 

the stool, sent him sprawling on the floor, and 

amidst universal laughter finished the piece 

alone ** in the way it ought to be played " 

The eccentricities of Schumann were 
numberless, and they were aided* more- 
over by a very peculiar temperament and 
an unfortunate addiction to the bottle, to 
which in later life he gave way. When he 
was the editor of the Neue Zeitschrift fiir 
Musik he fell desperately in love with the 
talented lady who was familiar to a past genera- 
don of concert-goers as Madame Schumann. 
In order to testify his affection for her 
he deemed it the proper thing to do to 
print a love-letter every week in extern^ 
which figured among the various items of 
musical intelligence. In this letter the 
eccentric composer gave full rein to his 
feelings, called the lady the most endear- 
ing names, made her the most amorous 
proposals, and all the while flattered him- 
self that his extraordinary outbreaks were 
completely ignored by his readers. 

In order to increase the power of his 
fingers for pianoforte - playing, he made a 
series of the strangest experiments with his 
digits. One of these was to fasten a long 
piece of string to a beam in the roof, at the 
lower end of which was a ring, which his 
middle finger went through. The object of 
the string and the ting was either to raise to 


undue heights or to strengthen the finger, we 
know not which. However, by a persistent 
application of this engine, the unfortunate 
composer contrived to maim his finger hope- 
lessly and to unfit himself for ever for 
concert-playing — the very opposite result to 
that which he intended* He had the most 
singular theories about keys and time. 
He would never care to write in certain 
keys because they reminded him of 
certain things, and he chose others 
reference to the time of the year or 
the day. The key of A, three sharps, 
maintained, always brought the notion to him 
of green fields and lambs playing, while that 
of E, four sharps, was no less suggestive of 
green foliage and gurgling rivulets. Nothing 
could induce him, except on rare occasions, 
to write in the key of F minor {four flats), 
because, he said, it always brought to his 
imagination death and judgment and the 
figure of the rider on the white horse in the 
■Apocalypse. To pen a lengthy composition 
in this key was a terrible nervous ordeal to the 
high-strung and eccentric composer, which, 
except with very urgent cause, he would 
never care to go through. In later life he was 
constantly haunted with 
note A, which sang in 
resounded in his brain, 
meal-times, and seldom 
day. To escape the constant visits of this 
note he once or twice, we believe, attempted 
to drown himself, and had nearly succeeded 
on one occasion but for timely rescue by 
his friends. 

We could give many further items in 
illustration of our subject, but perhaps we 
had better cease at this point. We are far 
from wishing to prove that musicians are the 
most eccentric of men* All we desire to 
show is that those we have mentioned were 
the most eccentric musicians* 

the spectre of the 
his ears for ever, 

sat before him at 
left him night or 

by Google 

Original from 

John Leech and His Method. 



By Frederick Dolman. 

" The first few line* in which he sets down hi* purpose are in variably, of all drawings, that I know, the most wonderful in 

their accurate felicity and prosperous haste. w — Rusk in. 

ELL known to his friends, " 
writes Thackeray in his 
obituary article on John 
Leech for the Corn hi /I 
Magazine^ " was a certain 
little pocket-book in which 
he was always making notes," A few leaves 
from this note- book, such as are reproduced 
here, have to-day an extraordinary interest 
and value in their revelation of the method 
as well as of the power of the great comic 
draughtsman , whose name now stands even 
higher in general esteem than it did at the 
time of his death in 1864. 

These pencilled outlines date from about 
1850, and in due course were developed 
into finished drawings for Punch, Leech's 
connection with that journal began in 1841, 
and within two or three years he had become 
a regular contributor. These Punch pictures 
in embryo may be said to represent him, 
therefore, in his artistic prime, Comparing 
them with the woodcuts as they were actually 
published, which, with the courteous per- 
mission of Punt/is proprietors, the readers 
of The Strand Magazine are enabled to 
do, we can, with the aid of such details as 
can be gathered together from John Leech's 
biographers and friends, form an excellent 
idea of the method by which he did his fine 
work in humorous art. I may add, too, that 
with the original outlines before us we can 
appreciate with a new force the opinion passed 
by Ruskin on the art of Leech which is 
quoted at the head of this article. Look* 
for example, at the face of the little boy who 
is trying on the visitor's hat, in the first 
sketch here reproduced. It consists of two 
lines and a dot, yet the expression aimed at 
is absolutely attained, The reader can find 
hundreds of examples of the same felicity of 
touch in the half-dozen specimens here given. 
Sometimes, however, though a drawing was 
artistically perfect, Leech was dissatisfied with 
his treatment of the subject, in which case he 
would make an entirely new drawing. An 
example of this is given on the last page of 
this article — " Domestic Bliss," At other 
times he would copy his sketch direct upon 
the wood-block so as to reverse the subject 
in the print, as in the case of " La Mode" 
(page 161). 

Under what circumstances did John Leech 



make these little strokes of the pencil that* 
thanks to careful preservation, are still so 
vividly suggestive after the lapse of half a 
century? In the first place, it is to be 
remembered that in his time wood -engraving 
rendered the task of the black and white 
artist somewhat different from what it is 
to-day, with our more rapid processes o( 
reproduction. An artist might make as 
many preliminary sketches on paper as he 
pleased, but the picture actually to be repro- 
duced had to be drawn on the block of wood 
which the engraver cut, the cutting of the 
draughtsman's lines being necessarily a 
matter which must occupy a considerable 
time. It seems that apart from tl notes ,r 
in his pocket-book, most of which have 
perished with time, Leech seldom made 
preparatory sketches, Swain, the engraver, 
stating that his pictures were usually drawn 
direct on to the wood. This method implied 
great rapidity in the execution of his work, 
and it is recorded that Leech sometimes 
began and finished three pictures between an 
early breakfast and a late dinner. It appears 
to be inevitable, having regard to the amount 
of work which in the course of twenty years 
he turned out, not only for Punch but for 
other journals as well as for the book pub- 
lishers, that the artist must have had both a 
splendid memory and an exceptionally well- 
filled note-book. His note-book, in point of 
fact, was probably slighter than that of most 
artists, but his memory, on the other hand, 
was clearly almost perfect. The unaided 
recollection of country holidays, for instance, 
gave him *'any little bit of country street he 
might want for background." 

Leech never employed professional models, 
and himself declared that he had not 
made more than half-a-dozen drawings from 
life. With regard to such subjects as " A 
Philosopher " and u Good Security," the 
figures outlined in the pocket-book were 
doubtless those of the dramatis persons in 
the incidents as actually witnessed by the 
artist. But although, strictly speaking, he did 
not draw from life, some of those nearest 
and dearest to him and many persons 
with whom he occasionally came into contact 
are reproduced by him in the pages of Punch. 
The personality of Mrs. Leech may have 
had some part in the process by which the 
Original from 



result of wooing and winning her. 
Apart from his wife the only person, 
it is believed, whom Leech ever asked 
to "sit" to him was Mrs. Hole, wife 
of the Dean of Rochester, who was 
the artist's lifelong friend. Leech 
frequently spent a few days at the 
Deanery, where he would work just 
the same as at home, and on one 
occasion, when he was sketching a 
hunting subject, he obtained the 
assistance of his hostess in riding 
costume, But the number of Leech's 
unconscious sitters every year was, of 
course, incalculable, and he was ever 
on the alert for " bits of character " 
in crowded Ixindcm streets or lonely 
country roads. 

Many are the stories told in illus- 
tration of the sources from which 
Leech derived his subjects of social 
life and character, such as are out- 
lined in these leaves from hts note- 
book. The most prolific of these 
sources, thanks to the admirable 
memory of which I have already 
spoken, was undoubtedly his own 

young ladies in embryo of the 
pencilled notes, "1*1 Mode" 
and " An Affair of Import- 
ance/' developed into the 
finished Punch pictures, and 
she was, without question, the 
model, indirectly, of " the 
plump young beauties," as 
Thackeray put it, " with which 
Mr. Punch's chief contributor 
supplies the old gentleman's 
pictorial harem," With a little 
care we can read her descrip- 
tion in some of these pictures 
— "short in stature, simple and 
pouting and laughing, with big 
eyes and round chin, with be- 
witching dimples and pretty 
ringlets." Her marriage, in 
1843, with the artist, by the 
way, was quite a little romance* 
He first saw Miss Annie Raton 
casually in the streets, fell in 
love at first sight, followed her 
home, noted the house, looked 
up the householder's name in 
the <£ Directory," made in- 
quiries about the family, and 
at length obtained the desired 
introduction, with the prompt 


fi the Canvas fob Mr. , not a Huxdrkd 

Free and independent ; "Oh! ain'i he a hrfabk 

Ihi EkKSTINt; Scbne DllMtP 
MiL*s prom . — Wife of 

gentleman, Tummni? " 

Free sod Independent ; " Ah 1 just ain't un. I shouldn't wonder if I warn t able 
to pay my rent to-morrow." 

by dC 

Original from 



personal experience. The comparatively few 
instances of this which were known to his 
friends must be regarded as typical of a 
great many. Nearly all his sporting satires 
were the result of holidays with Mi 11a is in 
Scotland, and with other friends nearer 
London. Leech himself, in the prime ol 
life at least, was a good rider and a fair shot ; 
but he did not spare himself when some 
amusing mischance befell him, and in the 
more or less ludicrous misfortunes of others 
he obtained ideas for many pictures. 
In these, as in most of his other 
pictures, the actual occurrence was 
but the germ, so to speak, of the 
finished conception which helped to 
sustain the gaiety of the nation. As 
an example of the quickness with 
which Leech's imaginative sense of 
humour worked, Mr. W. P« Frith, 
R»A, t used to tell of a certain visit 
to Ramsgate and its sequel As 
they strolled along (1 the Front " the 
painter of "Ramsgate Sands" called 
his companion's attention to two 
stuffed soldiers guarding an archery 
gallery; and Leech thereupon brought 
out his note- book and made a rough 
sketch of the figures. A week or 

/!Q ! 



: *' Sixpence ia the smallest monry \ have, my lit Lie lad, 14 

** Veil, sir, I'll gel yer change ; and if yer (buhls my honour, hold my broom t 

r^rtrtiil.^ Original from 

Digitized by LiOOQ IC 

two later there appeared in 
Punchy with his signature, 
the picture of an aunt and 
niece bathing at Ramsgate. 
The niece, in a spirit of 
mischief, directs the old 
lady's eyes to the two star- 
ing figures. Whereupon the 
aunt, who is very short- 
sighted, exclaims, "Disgrace- 
ful ! They may be officers, 
but they Ye not gentlemen." 
Some of Leech's amusing 
examples of domestic bliss 
had their origin in his own 
household at Kensington. 
The building troubles of 
(1 Mr. Briggs," which stu- 
dents of Punch will vividly 
remember, appeared about 
the time when his own 
house was undergoing altera- 
tion and repair. The piquant 
experience of this imaginary 
respectable suburban house- 
holder in being mistaken by 
the policeman for a burglar 
when getting through his 


1 1 ' 






Th.s is an i 


of a sketch which vu reversed in reproduction. 

own window actually befell the artist, who 
had been out late at the Ciarrick Club and 
failed to awake 
any of the in- 
mates of bis 
home. And in 
later years the 
nursery at the 
same Kensing- 
ton domicile 
provided him 
with not a few 
fruitful sugges- 
tions f o r his 
pencil. It was 
his own little 
son, for instance, 
who, as shown 
in a memorable 
pi c t u re, ex- 
plained to the 
nurse that he 
could be man- 
, aged only by 
kindness — * 4 so 
please get me a 
cake and an 

But one man's 
personal experi- 
ences, however 

Vol. MV.-21 

varied and well- 
remembered, could 
not have furnished 
Leech with the 
materials for the 
unfailing supply, 
week by week, of 
those little scenes 
in all phases of 
our social life— lo 
say nothing of 
political cartoons 
— which be kept 
up for twenty 
years. All sons of 
people, friends and 
acquai n t ances, 
were accordingly 
laid under contri- 
bution— not always 
with their own 
knowledge. When 
meeting his friends 
of an evening 
Leech always pre- 
ferred conversa- 
tion to cards, and 
Frith relates that 

" he was always on the watch for subjects 
which he hoped something in conversation 

La Modf„— Ghb (who is aktfayA so uall ol \u<i noftstfl£«) ; "Dash my bullous Ellen \ that's #■ 
stunning waistcoat, 1 wish you'd gsve u* your tailor's address." 

Pllen ! " DSfrt you be rj<iei $ir— and take your arms ol OW (ffttftF f rO m 




might suggest." On one of these occasions 
Frith mentioned an adventure which befell 
his brother-in-law on a trip to the Derby. 
The post- boy who drove the party down was 
found at night to be hopelessly 
drunk, and one of the gentlemen 
was accordingly induced to take 
his place astride one of the 
horses, whilst the errant Jehu was 
strapped down to the seat behind, 
the amateur whip gallantly sus- 
taining all the way to London 
the jeers of all the professional 
brethren. About a year after, 
when those most concerned had 
almost forgotten the incident, it 
was brought to their minds by 
Leech's pencil in Pu?ick % the re- 
currence of another Derby d;iy 
giving topical point, of course, to 
the picture. 

Two or three of Leech's most 
intimate friends made a point of 
communicating to him anything 
which occurred to them as likely 
to afford the basis of a Punch 
picture. Mr. Holman Hunt— 
whose work was about as far re- 
moved from that of John Leech 
as the work of two pictorial 
artists well could be— has given an 
interesting reminiscencein illustra- 
tion of this friendly assistance : — 

11 One Friday night I had sat 

Digitized by GoOglC 

down to much correspondence, in* 
tending before concluding to write 
of two or three amusing facts that 
might suit him for illustration. It 
had become very late, and I was 
clearing away my papers when, with 
vexation, I remembered his letter 
had not been written. 1 seized the 
pen, and on a sheet of paper I 
drew two horizontal lines, quite 
dividing the space. In the top I 
put, * Scene: Kitchen-garden, coun- 
try cottage. Dramatis persomz : 
Factotum, master entering/ and 
then a line or two of dialogue. The 
second subject I treated similarly, 
and also the third, which was not 
quite so promising," 

Mr. Ho! man Hunt adds that on 
the following Wednesday two of the 
three subjects appeared in Punch, 
Ix^ech, in a letter of thanks, stated, 
that the suggestions came most 
opportunely. When they arrived at 
breakfast time on Saturday morning 
he was almost at his wits' end for the 
subjects of two designs which had to be 
finished before he left tow r n at five o'clock 
in the afternoon. 

An Affair of Importance. — HatrieL : " OJi \ J eh kj plrnl you are cornr, 
it la *ie he ! I've been so perplex ed f could scarcely sleep all niglil,' 
Bl -mrhe : " Well \ what ift U p dear?'" 
HarricT : "Why, I don't know whether to have my new merino fro^k violet 

.xtrfcfai-r Original from 




Ruskin speaks 
of 4i the pros- 
perous haste M — 
admirably illus- 
trated in the 
accoinpa nyt ng 
sketches — of the 
workmanship of 
Letch, Mark 
Lemon declared 
that his contri- 
butor more than 
once drew the 
week's cartoon in 
the course of an 
hour and a half, 
whilst the editor 
smoked a cigar 
and chatted. In 
such circum- 
stances it is not 
surprising that 
Leech's powers of 
memory and ima- 
gination— great as 
these were — fell into arrear of the power 
of execution, and that he was glad to receive 
the willing aid of some of the 
many friends whom his geni- 
ality and good-nature gathered 
round him and retained in 
loyal attach men t until death. 

In these conditions it is 
the more noteworthy, too, I hat 
Leech never made use of friends 

or acquaintances in any way 
which was likely to be in the 

least degree offensive to them. 
When somewhat ** hard up n for 

food for his ravenous pencil he 

must have been sadly tempted 

to make immediate use of such 

an incident as once occurred at 

the Garrick Club when he was 

entertaining a young naval 

friend to dinner on his return 

from the first cruise, The mid- 
shipman was so small that he 

found the club knives almost 

impossible to handle. Leech, 

observing his dilemma, at once 

called the waiter and, pretend- 
ing that the knives were abnor- 
mally, disgracefully large, 

ordered the man to bring some 

of a smaller kind—his acting 

l^ing so good that the young 

id low's feelings were not hurt 

m the slightest. u Tomnoddy " 

did, indeed p have 
a living counter- 
part—Mike Halli- 
day, who was 
sometime clerk 
in the House of 
Lords, afterwards 
poet and artist. 
But before cari- 
caturing his 
acquaint a nee 
Leech had reason 
to believe that the 
process would be 
pleasing, rather 
than painful, to 
its subject. This 
belief was amply 
justified, for it 
was ever after- 
wards Halliday's 
boast that he was 
the original of 
one of the most 
ridiculous charac- 
ters hi Punch's portrait gallery. 

Whilst thus considerate of the suscepti- 

A Ptiit.osofHhKr — Hnrriet ; " 5l, st, si, dear me, now, I've hroken my comb, 
and all my l^ack hair's come down. What with brushing; and dreeing, jind curling, 
and nne thing and the other, u p hat a plague one's hair ls, to \nt *ure !: " 

Young Fellow : " Well, Harriet, ** are all huiliereil with something. Look at 
us men ; we have to shave every mornirj];, sirmrieE and v/inter ! " 



1 64 


This is an interesting example of a discarded sketch, ihe drawing used 
being entirely different. 

bilities of others, Leech did not spare himself 
when an opportunity came of having a joke at 
the expense of his 
own personality. 
The episode of the 
amateur actor re- 
fusing to sacrifice 
his whiskers for 
the sake of his 
part actually 
occurred in con- 
nection with some 
theatricals at 
Charles Dickens's 
house, and the 
hero of it was 
John Leech him- 

Writers on John 
Leech are agreed 
in favour of the 
opinion to which 
Ruskin lent the 
great authority of 
his name. Thus 
Mr. I\ G. Kitton, 
in his biography 
of the artist, says 
that "the best 
technical qualities 

of his art, his unerring precision, his 
unfailing vivacity in the use of the 
line, are seen most clearly in the 
first sketches for his woodcuts." 
The few words given as a motto for 
this article are but one of several 
passages which might be quoted 
from Ruskin himself. Thus in 
another passage in *' Arrows of the 
Chace " on " John leech's Outlines " 
he remarks " how much more valu- 
able as art the first sketches for the 
woodcuts were than the finished 
drawings, even before those drawings 
sustained any loss in engraving." 
This being so, it is much to be 
regretted that so few of these 
first outlines have apparently 
been preserved. The British 
Museum has several specimens of 
ihe "finished drawings," but not 
one of the " first sketches for the 

As the owner of the pocket-book 
from which these reproductions 
have been made wishes to dispose 
of it, this little gap in the national 
collection may soon be filled — 
unless, indeed, some reader of 

The Strand Magazine should outbid the 

Museum authorities, 

ThiMHSTic Ri.isk.v — Domestic (solihiquizinp) : "Weil! I'm sure missu* had letter give this new 
bonnet 10 me, knlcad of sticking <tuch a young 'looking thing upon her old shoulder*/" 
< The impudent mirut has immttii.Vx 'iwiriwwj .) 


The Fight for " The Purple Eve!' 

By G. H. Powell. 

NY reader who visited a certain 
exhibition of the Royal 
Academy in the early seventies 
will recall the scene — a view 
from a bare hillside overlook- 
ing a small fishing hamlet 
somewhere on the Welsh coast, a few gables 
and the church spire darkly silhouetted 
against the long crimson rifts that still lit 
the clouded Western sky. In the foreground 
a few dusky figures — fishermen or hinds 
returning from their work — broke the white- 
pink curve of a rugged little lane that caught 
the light as it climbed upwards. Two dark 
hillsides shut in the middle distance to left 
and right, while beyond the sunset gleamed, 
reflected in the long pools left on the sands 
below the town, turning them to a ruddy 
gold that contrasted with the "wine-dark" 

Such a piece of work was " The Purple 
Eve " ; but neither this poor description, nor 
a totalling up of the immense prices paid for 
it on the three occasions when it changed 
owners (twice at auction and once by private 
treaty), can convey any adequate idea of the 
homely insular beauty and intense peace 
enshrined in this gem of modern art. 

The last incident in the history of the 
picture, as understood by a curious public, 
was its purchase by Mr. Orpheus Fairfax 
Windowfig, the great American timber 
merchant, for what would, to many of us, 
represent a comfortable competence. 

Mr. Windowfig, after his retirement to 
England, occupied as his country house a 
long, low stucco palace, built to his order on 
the banks of one of the most lovely reaches 
of the Thames, and known as Marleyford 

The secret of the place — hinted, indeed, at 
the time by resident wiseacres, but on the 
whole carefully kept for many years— was that 
for so vast and expensive a structure it 
stood low, beneath a theoretic and idealist 
" flood-level." Now, everyone remembers the 
great flood, though those who lived through 
it — in it — remember it best. And every- 
body has heard also of the mysterious dis- 
appearance of "The Purple Eve," but few 
know the connection between th<? twQ 

Digitized by LiOOQ IC 

things. . . . The Yankee millionaire, whose 
commercial career had familiarized him 
with the Mississippi, was disposed to 
think lightly of the English rivers. Of the 
Thames he was wont to speak jocosely, now 
as a ditch bounding his considerable estate, 
now as a pond on the outskirts of his garden. 
And there, in the lofty forty-foot dining-hall 
fronting the water and lawn, hung that 
cynosure of all eyes, " The Purple Eve." 

That a plot for the further " conveyance " 
of this wondrous picture had long been 
in existence — a plot connecting criminal 
specialists in London, New York, and 
Amsterdam — had long been hatching, I do 
not doubt. So much Murdyke had con- 
fided to me. He consulted me where he 
thought I — with my ex-gentleman's know- 
ledge of social life — could be useful. The 
Swilly Hole Farm, which he rented at 
the expense of a few shillings a week, was 
a dreary, damp, and half-ruined cottage, a 
quarter of a mile inland, and near a mile 
higher up the valley. Planted on rising 
ground at the foot of the hills, but hidden 
by trees from most points of the river, it 
overlooked a dreary tract of pasture cut up 
by deep, muddy dykes, into which a horse or 
beast fell about once a month — the rare 
occasions when a human being appeared 
within view of our residence. The dykes 
led to a marshy pool, popularly believed 
to have no bottom, or, at the least, to 
have swallowed up a coach and four 
that once wandered from the high road to 
Cooklow. A ditch, broader than the others, 
led from the disused farmyard across a water- 
meadow into the river, the wooden bridge 
over it that carried the towing-path being 
just high enough to allow our little pair-oared 
tub to pass beneath. Rushes and rank grass 
choked the unkempt lawn, and even straggled 
up the slope of gravel path to the front door. 
From the low window of the little parlour — 
its floor littered with dirty yellow-backs and 
curls of paper peeled from the damp w^lls — 
the whole glaring front of Marleyford was 
clearly visible through a break in the bank of 
willows that bounded the garden. 

The distance between the two buildings 
as the crow flie%-|>j'^f r Q<j>fo I dare say, much 


1 66 


over a thousand yards. Indeed, my impres- 
sion of the fact is agonizingly distinct. A 
dozen times have I seen Murdyke lovingly 
dust out his new German repeating rifle 
and train it at the great white butts half 
across the valley and the figures of lounging 
or smoking guests as they showed dark 
against it il Easy to pick them off from 
here/' he would say, and then mutter, play- 
ing with one of the pencil-like cartridges, 
"What we want is something that won't 
rouse all the echoes in this blessed valley." 

Frequently I found him practising in the 
little backyard with a bow and arrows — a 
good how of some black American wood, 
and arrows that seemed to go easily through 
the target extemporized out of an old 

"Noise/' I said; "there's no need for 

scrupulous, or unscrupulous, regard to prac- 
tical detail. 

" We get there/' he went on, noting the 
puzzled weariness of my expression, u or we 
don't. If we do, Fulcsai gives us so much 
down for the picture at sight. There's your 
share/ 1 he waved his hand at me — the one 
with the scar upon it " You pay your debts 
if you please, square the one official who 
suspects your complicity in — all right, I'm 
not going to talk about it — or clear out of the 
country and start fresh. Say we don't get 
the chance ; we stay here another month— I 
bargain for that. It's safe, quiet, cheap, till 
we want to quit And, let me tell you, this 
old river is a deucedly convenient thorough- 
fare for tramps like ourselves. It'll take us 
just anywhere," 

I stared blankly. "The locks? Why, 


noise, if one could only get near the house, 
with an eight-foot wall and bottle-glass all 
round three sides of the garden and patent 
locks on every door, let alone electric alarm- 
bells and contraptions everywhere ! And I'd 
like to know who's going to walk up that 
long stretch of lane without being seen from 
all over the valley ! n 

"When we go,' 1 Murdyke answered, with 
his solemn chuckle, "there'll be a way straight 
and easy from here right into that dining- 
room, as there would he for one of those 
rifle-bullets." He talked, I knew, with the 
audacity of the gambler who has yet a 

Digitized by G< 

every rowdy tripper is hauled up nowadays. 
They take your number." 

* l Yours, perhaps," he said, with a con- 
temptuous grin, but went on musing aloud : 
"It's so simple, so improbable, so impos- 
sible.' 3 Turning, he tapped the barometer, 
which fell a little. For a fortnight past the 
last number of a new* weather almanac had 
divided his attention with the derelict novels 
aforesaid* He was no 

October was now upon us, and Mr, 
Windowfig and his visitors seemed to enjoy 
the peaceful beauty of the English autumn. 
Original from 


£R_'nt reader — of 



The long array of his lighted windows lit 
up the misty darkness of the great valley. 

Then it began to rain, and Murdyke, as he 
sat opposite me at our dreary meals — we had 
"pigged it" alone all the time — began to smile. 
For the first week or so it fell in a gentle, 
listless sort of way, the sort of wet you expect 
with the fall of the year. Then it thickened 
and steadied as if it were the " rains " with a 
recognised official mission. That lasted four 
days, and on the fifth, when I walked at dusk 
into the little town of Cooklow, to buy some 
bread, people were talking of the very dry 
summer and what you must expect. Then 
followed two or three ostentatiously fine 
mornings and even hours of sunshine. In 
the intervals and all night it rained in 
tropical torrents, enlivened by thunder and 
lightning, which rolled and played finely 
about the high, wooded hills, and seemed to 
give the thing quite a novel interest By 
that time the valley was a sight Delighted 
children drove or boated their way to school 
and church, and everybody seemed amused. 
Whatever calamities 
threatened, we, at 
least, were at one 
with the forces of 
Nature in our in- 
difference, hav- 
ing nothing to 
lose— for the 
boat could hold 
all our belong- 
ings — and, great 
heavens ! what 
romantic dreams 
of gain ! For it 
was at this point 
while we caulked 
our small vessel 
and packed her 
with provisions 
for two days, 
that Murdyke 
unfolded his in- 
credibly auda- 
cious plan. 
Frankly, given 
certain very pro- 
bable data, the 
risk seemed, 
even to my mind, 
simply nil, 

"What the 
dickens," he mur- 
mured, " is to 
prevent us going 
out on the water 

of an evening? If people won't receive 
us, we can go right away down — to sea, if 
you like." 

When the two villages of Marley and 
Bustleden were cut off from one another by 
a small Scotch river in spate, the inhabi- 
tants laughed as people laugh at the close of 
a good farce, on rising to leave. 

Everyone, that is, but Mr. Fairfax Window- 
fig, who was beginning to feel very uncom- 
fortable, and rather inclined to stand upon 
his rights as an American citizen towards 
what he had understood to be a civilized 
country in a temperate zone. An unbroken 
lagoon extended from the gravel path at the 
head of his lawn to the wooded hills a mile 
away. Other people, too, felt that every shred 
of humour had been washed out of the 
transaction, and all was genuine indignation 
and dismay when the announcement came 
that there had been more rain, inches more, 
up in the Gloucestershire hills, and the real 
flood was all to come. 
And before men had time to get together 

and exchange 
execrations it 
aimt } at the be- 
wildering rate of 
near two inches 
a n h our all 
through the last 
gently drizzling 
afternoon, a 
deluge unknown 
for a century and 
a half. 

And Mr. Win- 
dowfig stalked 
about his inun- 
dated premises, 
cursing England 
and English 
architects and 
the climate and 
the Thames 
Con servator s 
and himself in 
the old, rich, 
homely vernacu- 
lar of the Missis- 
sippi lumber- 
raft. And as his 
hard business 
eye caught one 
after another of 
the expensive 
gimcraeks the 
flood was wash- 
ing off the pre- 




mises at the rate of fifty dollars a minute, 
he started afresh and cursed them all 
separately with their makers. Then he swore 
a mighty oath to go right away and leave the 
whole mud-puddle of a wreck to H.M. 
Queen Victoria as a national aquarium. 
Then, on hearing from his coachman of the 
impossibility of driving up or down the 
valley, he set himself frantically and practi- 
cally to save all that could be saved. Before 
that time all the villages of the plain and 
many hundred ornate riverside villas had 
subsided into one vast and endless mere; 
for the waters, stretching from one range of 
hills even to the other, seemed at last to have 
recovered their natural course, and only a 
few mastodons at play in the marshy fore- 
ground were needed to complete the tableau 
of primaeval Nature. 

This blessed relapse and the extinction of 
all new-fangled " means of communication " 
— at a time when the High Street of many a 
good-sized town wore the air of a gas-lit 
salmon river — was grateful enough to us. 
(Fools that we were, with all our ingenuity, 
to chuckle over the eclipse of what mattered 
so little and forget the one thing which would 
remain unaffected by any deluge ever known 
to the British Isles.) 

Never shall I forget that last evening, as 
we gazed at the dark sky from the window of 
the bedroom into which we had carried up 
the few chattels not packed in the boat, the 
soft swish of the rain, the dull, stiff swirl of 
the water, as I lay on the bed reading for the 
sixth time a stained and torn yellow-back till 
roused by Murdyke's remarks from below as 
he measured the water with a joint of a 

Everything had been ready for an hour 
past, and a saucepan on the small fire 
warmed up the last meal we were to eat at 
the Swilly Hole Farm. 

Murdyke's voice sounded up through the 
rat-eaten floor. " It's washing round this 
side a bit since that bank in Hamblesham 
Park gave way. By the time we have three 
inches on the floor here we ought to 
be off. . . . It'll take us no time at all to 
get there. We lie up by the clump of elms 
above the garden. If it runs very strong 
perhaps we ought to warp her down." 

A foolish sentence of the trumpery novel I 
was reading as I lay on the bed at that 
moment ran : " If — you — say — that — 
Edward — then — you — never — really — loved 
— your — Evelina. " It echoed in my head all 
night. (What Edward said I don't remember.) 

Coming down, I found Murdyke seated at 

the table looking over a sketch plan of the 
towers. He put his thick finger on tfte big 
dining-room where hung "The Purple Eve." 
" Do you know what that's floored with ? " 
he said. " Parqueterie, at seven-and-six the 
square foot, and every inch of it bust up 
now. . . . Good for trade," he chuckled, 
"and attracts attention . . . useful to con- 
jurers like ourselves . . . another thing 
you won't understand . . . the large French 
window in the middle of this near wall." 

" Well," I answered, " it's plate-glass, I 
suppose ? " 

"The wood-work, you owl, the wood- 
work," he went on quietly, as if explaining 
an obvious move at chess; "it's Brazilian 
almug, finer than any ordered by Solomon, 
inlaid with ivory, fitted with brass— now do 
you follow? And " 

"And American spring-locks," I added, 

Murdyke gripped my elbow. 

" Locks ! " he grunted. " Why, they'll have 
the whole blessed thing off the hinges on to 
the sideboard. The carpets— they'll drag 
them upstairs or roll 'em up . . . on chairs 
and things — and the floor," he chuckled 
again, " that'll come up of itself . . . half an 
hour ago. Come here, and you'll see them 
at work." 

We walked to the window, our boots creak- 
ing and sticking in the water, leant on the 
low sill, and looked out across the dark 
valley, now one vast moving mere. The river 
front of Marleyford was ablaze with lights to 
its topmost turret, and against the lower 
windows figures could be seen hurriedly 
moving to and fro. It was obvious now 
what was going on— what was bound to be 
going on. A new glow of confidence in 
Murdyke's genius thrilled me with childish 

"They've lots of men — and powder," he 
burst out, with a guffaw. I laughed, too, at 
the thought of those draggled flunkeys sweat- 
ing up and down stairs ..." they won't want 
help . . . from outside. Not a soul but 
our two— now" he broke off, with sudden 
intensity, " watch that middle chandelier. You 
see the bar between us and it. That's the 
frame of the thing." And, lo ! as confused 
figures blocked the light, the dark, vertical 
line slowly turned over. The obstructions 
vanished, and the light blazed out more 
clearly than ever. Murdyke could not 
repress a gasp of delight. He never frowned 
when the window darkened again suddenly. 

" Of course, don't syou see ? . . . Tar- 
paulin to keep f.he| j^-^ut— $\\ that can get 




under the veranda. 

now bat to get across 

There's nothing 
They won't 
have time to move anything more, and " 

44 And the picture ■?" I gasped, 

"They won't want to/', was the placid 
answer " Why should they ? Noah's flood 
wouldn't come 
within three feet 
of the frame- . . 
It's as safe as 
Coutts's Bank/' 
he added to him- 
self (meaning* I 
fancy, not "The 
Purple Eve," but 
our enterprise). 
"They'd as soon 
expect a fleet of 
Chinese pirates." 

As we stood 
up, the water, 
which seemed to 
have ebbed a 
fiule, returned in 
a steadier tide, 
I looked outside. 
The tub swung 
uneasily, moored 
to the door-post. 
The dull roar of 
a vast avalanche 
seemed to fill the 
air and shake the 
crazy house. 

"This is no- 
thing," said Mur- 
dyke, putting out 
his hand into 
the drizzle ; 
"we'd better be 
off." . . . 

In a moment we were drifting at an 
alarming rate across the great valley. The 
opposite hillside, then the clustering elms 
that hedged the lagoon, loomed quickly on 
our sight, 

"Hold her easy with your scull/' he 
whispered, as we glided into a bit of back- 
water above the long white outline of a wall 
and lay within thirty yards of the house, 
but invisible from it 

The wind, which had left the rainy quarter 
and was blowing upstream, brought up 
the exclamations of Mr. Windowfig and his 
exhausted staff, The millionaire's nasal 
accents had a cheerful, almost triumphant, 
ring as he passed the window, giving a 
few final orders. Everything was safe, he 
calculated, that could be saved. 

VoL W.-22 

Murdyke whispered, gravely : " We're early. 
We must give them twenty minutes — no more. 
The mcnll be dog-tired and we want to get 
away again without grounding. She won't 
keep at this height an hour more." 

I was tired, too, and dozed in the boat 

When I woke* 
Murdyke had a 
matchbox in his 
hand and a can 
of paraffin. 

" I don't think 
we need/ J he 
said, seeing me 
awake again; 
H not the house, 
you know*, but 
the cottage and 
engine-shed at 
the back. If they 
wouidnU go to 
b€d n ~ his deli- 
berate whisper 
made me smile 
even at that 
mom en t — "it 
would keep their 
attention off this 
side. 5 ' , . . Five 
minutes later he 
spoke again, 
"The water's fall- 
ing now — on this 
walk ■ . . She'll 
do now, . ■ . 
Yes, that lamp 
*n the turret is 
never put out. 
I .and me on the 
veranda, and 
when I get in 
again shove for mid -stream for dear life. 
Stand ready. The good old riverll do all 
the rest." 

Then a thought set my heart jumping 

" The launch ? ' * I said ; iS their launch ? " 
and pointed across the lake of garden dotted 
with bushes to the spired silhouette of the 
little boat-house. He answered with a sort 
of contempt : — 

"Not there, not there, my child. She's 
laid up at Reading— seven and a half miles 

A clock in the tower struck the quarter 
after eleven. The whole pile of building 
stood silent and lifeless before us amid the 
swish and swirl of the flood. In breathless 
silence we landed her round the corner of the 


AND Tilt riCJUKt? I (iASl'tn. 



wall {"Keep her over the grass," whispered 
my companion; "don't touch the gravel") 
and punted across the garden to the front of 
the house. 

How right Murdyke had been ! It seemed 
it was but a few moments— of no exertion 
to warm a child — from the crossing of the 
doorstep of the Swilly Hole J r arm to the 
moment when, holding the still floating boat 
with my feet, I grasped a stone pillar of the 
veranda while 
he leapt nimbly 
out, put aside 
some dark 
hanging mate- 
rial, and step- 
ped carefully 
into the dismal 
watery cavern 
behind it* The 
yellow disk of 
a dark lantern 
fluttered over 
ormolu, maho- 
gany, stamped 
leather, rich 
Indian mat- 
ting, and costly 
furniture piled 
in confusion, 
and fell on the 
black water 
lapping slimily 
against the 
walls, while 
stirred it with 
his feet, like 
some mon- 
strous reptile 
i m prisoned, 
In the veranda 
and all about 
the boat floated 
dark, mysteri- 
ous squares 
and triangles, 
the wreckage of Mr. Windowfiy's priceless 
flooring. In less than a minute, I believe, 
Murdyke had taken his bearings, waded 
across the room, stumbling once or twice 
over the debris, and found his prey. 

For one moment stood out before our 
eyes, like a vision of the night, a feast of 
colour and chiaroscuro, li The Purple live, 7 ' 
And, oh ! what hours of bitterest reflect ion 
were crowded for me into the momentary 
glimpse of that on which I had last gazed — 

Digitized by G* 

k w>^ p 




;- .*-■ 

P^flM*^* T 

* nil 



an honest man among a crowd of honest 
men and women, and now looked— a thief, 
a burglar 1 No, the mere accomplice of one* 
Even while I thought, Murdyke had 
climbed upon the table, cut the great picture 
from its frame with a sharpened penknife, 
rolled it in oilcloth, tied the roll with string, 
and waded back to the boat He had 
bestowed it safely, and we were already a few 
yards from the house, when we both heard a 

sound* the 
flop, flop of 
soft, heavy 
feet in shallow 
water, coming 
round the cor- 
ner of the 
house, and 
then the dark 
outline of a 
dog — a fine 
young blood- 
hound — be- 
came discern- 
the wall. 

"Hold her 
a second/' he 
" then put the 
light on to 
him" — a coun- 
sel, I believe, 
of infatuated 

The dog, 
usually tied in 
the stable-yard 
at the back, 
had not, I 
think, either 
.sll'H or scented 
us, The flash 
of the lantern, 
by arresting 
the brute's at- 
tention, kept 
him quiet per- 
Then, a& the 
with horror we 


haps three seconds longer. 

suspense became t<>o much 

saw the great head thrown up for a bellow 

that would have wakened the valley- But it 

never did. 

As I leant to stay the boat, my ear caught 
the " whit " of the bowstring. There was the 
sound of a light tent-peg expeditiously driven 
home in soft turf But the sound, the stifled 
M Oo-ugh " that came from the hound's throat 
as he rolled over heavily in the water against 




JHfcL *LAiii v¥ ifiK UAMfc-kN Ktfc'l HIM *jUifcl ifcLKHrti'i I HKbt SjitUMJ* LuMjKIc. 

one of the stone pillars, was one more alarm- 
ing to those who did hear than any casual 
bark of a watch-dog on a dark night. We 
had killed the beast, but to little purpose. 

As We thrust out for the river some orna- 
mental vase struck us like a sunken rock and 
rolled over heavily, while, floating on, we found 
our course suddenly arrested by a barrier of 
rose tree and trellis- work, through which the 
stream raced like a sewer through a grating. 

Even as we hung there a light or two 
flashed out in the upper floor, then into the 
corridor below and the room we had just 
quitted. There was a mad outcry of alarm, 
angry questions, furious orders. When, by 
the light of our lantern (there was no help 
for it), we cleared the last impediment and 
slipped off into deep water and the darkness 
of night, it was with three words ringing in 
our ears : <£ There they are! " 

The dark, trackless waste seemed to 
jembrace and cheer us. 

u We shall see/' said Murdyke, as the tub 
went spinning down mid stream. 

" Keep her for the station lights. It's 
three-quarters of a mile to the weir a bee 
line. We go clean over." He turned the 
light on to a pocket -com pass that hung from 
his watch-guard and leant back, grasping the 
rudder lines. I shut my eyes and pulled, 
simply to ^et some hold of the boat 

Then Murdjke bowed his head and 
uttered a comprehensive curse. 

Digitized by QjOOglc 

"What's up?" I asked, looking sharply 
round, but discerning nothing. 

" I forgot the telephoned He began softly 
swearing again. " We might have cut the 
forsaken wire and sawed the pole ten times 
over while we were waiting. Never mind." 

In truth, as we glided noiselessly through 
the darkness, with the whole flooded valley, 
a thousand paths of escape, open to us, and 
"The Purple Eve" safely stowed in the 
bottom of the boat, we were still thrilled 
with a hysterical sense of triumph. 

Up to that last accident of the dog, had 
not all gone well enough? Now we had 
been seen. Rut could we be identified — 
our retreat cut off? 

A boat, even a large boat, was not too 
easily stopped, under ordinary circumstances. 
And now with all die lock service suspended, 
the river for some dozen miles one long rapid, 
what could prevent us landing where we 
pleased, walking into any one of twenty 
different villages with a handbag and a spar, 
wrapped not unnaturally in sailcloth, and 
hiring a conveyance to any railway station 
just out of the great valley ? 

The night was cloudy and dark but for an 
occasional glimpse of a faint moon. The 
shore lights gave us our bearings. The 
stream alone would carry us at railroad pace 
out of all danger, Thus in our vm-t lu-art* 
we still thought w r e had done well- 
Half an hour or thirty-five minutes later 




and we had resigned our intellectual supre- 
macy to two other men — Mr. Orpheus 
Fairfax Windowing and his engineer 

Murdyke took the sculls, and with long, 
steady strokes, never splashing on the feather, 
sent the tub spinning along at a rate that 
soon carried us out of sight of Marleyford 

Out of sight, but not out of mind* 
Strange, then, it must appear that as we sat 
silent in the boat amid the vast expanse of 
rushing waters we did not either of us in 
spirit see or hear the fatal activity roused 
against us, in a lightning flash, forty miles 
away— the night clerk at the Central London 
Bureau, waking from his first doze at the 
familiar tingle, mechanically responding as 
he swung round the telephone drum to 
his ear — the harsh snarl of the infuriated 
Yankee — " Number 44, lay me on to 
Reading — yes, what ? — if local office closed 
telegraph — if Great Western wires out 
of order — yes — by any route, round the 
whole blessed island— or by special train, if 

any engine can get there— spare no expense 

— Waterson, 13, Well Street, to bring down 

my launch at 

once. Are you 

there ? Yes — at 

once t across 

country if he 


Of all this we 

not only knew— 

we even feared — 

nothing, fools 

that we were ! 

Of w a k e n e d 

police officials, of 

i n te rception, 

arrest — before we 

could reach a 

paint of safety • 

of that we 

thought indeed, 

and recked 

little! , . . 
It afterwards 

appeared that 

Mr. Waterson 

was neither in 

bed nor even, as 

might fairly be 

expected of a 

riverside em- 
ploye, engaged 

in heavy drink- 
ing, but simply 

in rescuing other 

people's property 


by Google" 

from the flood in a vessel whose shallow 
draught and considerable horse-power par- 
ticularly adapted her to street work in a 
sharpish current, when he received two tele- 
graphic messages in quick succession* 

Four minutes later the gieat arch of the 
railway bridge re-echoed to the throbbing 
dynamo of the fastest electric launch afloat 
as, manned by her engineer and one assistant, 
she passed northwards out of the half-sub- 
merged town with the flood tide, her indicator 
marking eighteen knots an hour- 
Mr. Waterson knew the valley , every bank 
and fiat in its conformation; no man better* 
Mr. Waterson was wildly excited. Mr. 
Waterson had not to wait to lay fires or get 
up steam. Yet all this was as nothing to the 
odds marshalled against us by the infernal 
accident of a millionaire's capricious vanity. 
For from the bows of the model torpedo 
boat a revolving search-light swept the vast 
primaeval mere of the valley east and west, 
as the tiny vessel sped on her unwearying 
race against time* 

Twice the angry clang of her bell woke a 

sleeping lock- 
keeper on the 
Berkshire shore 
in time to enjoy 
the spectacle of 
her lights closing 
in on his curious 
gaze, till a red 
glow swooped 
down the rapid 
and vanished 
into the trackless 

And where the 
river wanders 
round the green 
meadows of Ship- 
grave she cheated 
the true course 
of near a mile, 
her steel prow 
cutting away two 
or three half- 
ruined fences, 
and plunged into 
the main channel 
going harder than 

Down ward s t 
too, we sped, 
urged by Mur- 
dyke's sturdy 
strokes, and as 

IlKs OK THE tl.'ll AS SHfe. lka.t 

** Original from 




we shot under the long suspension bridge — 
now close over our heads as a roof, so high 
ran the stream that night — the latrps in the 
broad main street of Cook low opened out, 
condensed, and vanished ; the red star above 
the station below glowed ever redder and 
brighter at every swing of Murdyke's broad 
hack, while we heard the familiar voice of the 
weir before us hushed to that of a broad 
salmon river. Keeping off the town side of 
the stream, we swung steadily down the main 
current, where, as I have said, the weir 
stretched in a long curve across our 

For a few seconds, as the two centre posts 
loomed into sight, he held the boat up all a 
man could. Then the sculls bent like 
withies as we raced at the low fringe of 
tumbling and roaring water. Straining the 
rudder -cords in each hand, I set my feet 
against the sides of the tub as she leapt the 
bar, struck the lower level with a heavy, 
indenting splash, tossed over a moment in 
the boiling waves, and, barely under control, 
shot down the side stream, where the current, 
even in summer-time, runs like a mill-race. 

The dark, rounded hedge of willows mark- 
ing the banks on either side flew by us as, 
rounding the half-drowned eyot, we emerged 
upon the straightest and broadest reach of 
the riven 

We could fairly have shouted with delight 
Before us lay a vast tract of submerged 
territory — easily traversable, for many hours 
yet, in any direc- 

Lea n i u g to- 
gether for a hur- 
ried consultation 
as the boat drifted, 
we made our 
decision to follow 
the stream an- 
other mile and a 
half, paddle several 
miles inland to the 
foot of the hills, 
hide the boat or 
let her drift away, 
mislead possible 
watches below, 
walk out of the 
valley across 
country, strike a 
high road for the 
railway, avoiding 
the nearest station 
—I had the times 
marked on a card 

— make our way to a small depot, and take 
ship to our friends at Amsterdam, 

The simplicity of such a plan, the im- 
possibility of tracing or arresting our course 
(at night, over a trackless desert) by any- 
thing short of a cordon some twelve or fifteen 
miles in length, acted on our brains like an 
intoxicating draught. 

So that up to the last moment of our 
infatuation all our fears were of a danger from 

At the moment our only embarrassment— 
will it be believed ?— arose from the tempo- 
rary extinction of our lamp — an accident 
which mattered little, as our route was already 

Where the last of a long row of poplars on 
the right bank comes into line with the ' nd 
of a great rampart of woods that shuts in 
the valley on the opposite side we were to 
veer off a:ross the pastures. By the aid of 
a passing glimmer of moonlight, Murdyke 
was trying one more glimpse at his chart, 
when suddenly a strong light settled upon it 
like a butterfly on a flower, rendering every 
scratch of the pen visible as at noonday ; 
then, before you could wink, all was dark 
again. We sat in the boat, our knees 
knocking with terror. Amid the darkness 
— the desert that was our one hope — an tye 
was upon ns : an eye— we did not need to tell 
each other — that was the symbol of an aveng- 
ing force from which there was no escape. 

As we held our breath there broke on the 

by LiOOgle 

"an eye was tJ^WfUiJinSl 




stillness of the night, above the murmur of 
waters, a distant hum. 

" A steam launch ! " I whispered. " Then 
she must belong to this reach," said Mur- 
dyke ; "you couldn't get half a funnel under 
Cooklow Bridge to-night." 

So he said, but his words had a faint and 
forced accent. We saw no glare in the sky 
or river ; but before I could answer the 
staring light was upon us again. The mere, 
hard, dusty dazzle of it pulverized the darkness 
and answered all questions, and as the long 
white radii swept slowly over us again we 
sat like condemned felons awaiting the 
executioner's stroke, till I could have wished 
the shafts of light were in truth missiles — 
messengers of instant death. 

But, as the light shut off again, Murdyke 
seemed to recover himself. " Not in the 
open," he cried, with an oath, and pulled 
frantically for the near shore. "With cover 
we'll do them yet ; steer for the garden." 
Before us the square Norman tower of a 
village church stood out white and ghostly, 
flanked by three tall poplars. As we turned 
towards it the same glimmer of light illumi- 
nated for a fraction of a second his anxious, 
strenuous face and vanished, but not before 
I felt that our doom was sealed. I looked 
round upon the water behind us. A small 
dark patch was dimly visible. A distinct 
whirring sound came from it. 

Country people, river tourists, and garden 
party-goers, who know well the trim lawn 
fronting the vicarage of Marsham Abbots, 
would little dream that it was once the scene 
of a naval engagement no less fiercely con- 
tested in its way than that of Trafalgar, 
though it could not have lasted five minutes. 

The long, low house, flooded and deserted, 
shut in the battleground on one side. On 
the other, almost adjoining it at right angles, 
the great church gleamed grey in the lunar 
twilight, looking calmly down on a stranger 
scene than any it had witnessed for five 
centuries before the painting of " The Purple 

A thick yew hedge made an inky margin 
to the lagoon surrounding the house. Could 
we reach its shelter ? The electric launch, 
now openly pursuing and ablaze with light, 
stood rapidly in upon us and then paused a 
moment as if fearful of shallows, and confi- 
dent in her speed to overtake us if we 
returned to open water. 

Two figures were apparent on her deck — 
the squat form of the millionaire and a burly 
engineer in a pea-coat, who leant over the 

gunwale feeling the depth with a punt-pole. 
I scarcely noticed Murdyke had dropped the 
sculls in the rowlocks and picked up some- 
thing else from just behind him, when the 
man slipped heavily into the water with a 
choking shriek, in which surprise and terror 
seemed to eclipse pain. The most terrible 
explosive could scarcely have caused more 
consternation than this old-fashioned and 
noiseless missile. Windowfig pulled the 
man aboard again — a lurch of the boat 
had turned Murdyke's bulPs-eye into a 
"white" — but in the interval we had almost 
rounded the high yew hedge separating the 
upper part of the garden from the lawn that 
fronted the river. But before we disappeared 
from view the strident American snarl, " Take 
that, you ha-ound ! " struck upon our ears. A 
stream of fire leapt towards us, and while the 
old church walls echoed with the reverbera- 
tion as of a multitude shouting within them, 
a heavy ball from a revolver passed between 
us out of the boat at a point close to her 
water-line. The river spurted through at 
every swing of the sculls, but with a frantic 
effort I stuffed my handkerchief into the 
hole, while Murdyke leant over on the other 
side fishing for something with the boat-hook. 
In a moment, while we still lay sheltered, he 
had pulled a strip of wire-netting off the bed 
and piled it in the water across the passage, 
and we made off again. Then, while we 
manoeuvred round a clump of dark vegeta- 
tion — some rose bushes and a couple of 
apple trees — the glaring light of the launch 
appeared, suddenly illuminating the dark 
windows of the vicarage, and stopped. 

"Fouled their — screw," whispered my 
companion, hoarse with triumph. " Back 
we get to the river." Indeed, as the boat 
shot down the farther path again, rounding the 
barrier of yew, and swept across the lawn it 
seemed we had played hide-and seek to some 
effect. It was our last wild chance. But as 
the flood stream caught the boat and the 
welcome darkness again enveloped us, the 
fatal humming of the electric engines was 
once more audible. 

It was then that Murdyke, muttering " Not 
done yet," grasped something I could not 
see and, without a splash, slid overboard. 
Doubtless he reckoned — safely enough — on 
my sticking to the ship in sheer timidity and 
the enemy's pursuing it. 

A minute later the savage boor of a 
Yankee, drunk with the novel excitement of 
the whole weird episode, rushed his little 
vessel at mine with a rapidity which, had the 
spoils of the night lx^cn still on board, would 




" MUKhVICKt WiTlinlT A 

I'tASK, M-l[. 

have defeated its own object. Again the 
vast darkness was cut by a red flash from his 
weapon ; again the Norman tower re-echoed 
its bellowing report and the accents of his 
voice, a howl of scarcely human rage, 

The search -light glared into my dazed 
eyes, arid the steel prow ploughed singing 
through the dark water towards me as I 
pulled idly downstream. Then, while the 
old church clock struck the hour of midnight, 
with a sudden crash the boat crumpled up 
and the cold wave rushed over my body. 

What became of Mur- 
dyke? I never doubled. 
But of him more anon. 

Two years later, on a 
roasting day in June, a tour- 
ing landscape painter step- 
ped into a lonely cottage in 
the little village of Yaleharn, 
that lies half a mile hack 
from the river on the flats 
below the Cooklow r reach, 
to ask for a glass of water 

The elderly housewife 
pressed her visitor to enter 
the par lour , proffering a 
draught of milk, while the 
visitor explained that what 
he required was a vehicle, 
not a beverage. Then, as 
his glance wandered idly 
round the walls of the 
cottage, into which the after- 
noon sun poured through 
the lattice and the half- 
open door, he suddenly 
stood transfixed. 

"That pielisher, sir?" said 
the old lady, setting down 
a glass on the table. " Why, 
I do suppose it might be 
a painted sketch of the river 
somewheres as some artist 
genleman left be'ind him, 
though it ain't much like. 
Leastways, my old man 
found the thing last fall 
lying in a ditch, half 
rottened with the wet ; so 
we cut a bit of the hedges off and one 
cornder as was spiled, and ,? . . . 

The Academician gasped, fumbling wildly 
in the pockets of his flannel trousers ; for 
there, nailed against a cottage wall, half 
hidden by clumsy ornaments, shorn down, 
defaced, tattered, but still recognisable, 
hung all that remained of "The Purple 
Eve,' 5 , , . 

But the woman was right in one part of 
her history of the picture. It had been left 
behind by an artist , * . 

by Google 

Original from 

England v. The World in Athletics. 

By C B. Frv. 

T did not want the setting 
out of world's records/* 
writes Mr. H. Morgan- 
Browne, in his preface to the 
most complete compilation 
of such statistics yet pub- 
lished, IL to prove the overwhelming superi- 
ority of Englishmen in almost every branch 
of athletics. Practically they are the world's 
record-holders, though here and there, notably 
in long-distance cycling and at short, sharp 
bursts of speed, or in feats denoting nimble- 
ness and spring rather than strength and 
endurance, they have to acknowledge for the 
present the superiority of others." Is this so? 

The above words were written in 1897; 
and they perhaps embody the general English 
opinion, then and now, on the subject. 
With regard to the statistics in Mr* Morgan- 
Browne's book of records, the statement is 
true enough. But the compiler deals almost 
exclusively — and for his purpose he is right to 
do so — with those kinds of athletics which arc 
readily reduced to statistics, to compnraiive 
records. For the purpose of comparing 
England with the world In athletics he 
supplies little beyond the records in track 
athletics, cycling, and swimming. This leaves 
out of view the very large: and important 
department of athletics which consists in 
first-rate games. 

Statistics and figures are of only small 
value in estimating prowess in games. More- 
over, international comparisons in this respect 
are limited by the fact that, in general, each 
nation plays games peculiar to itself For 
instance, you cannot fruitfully compare Eng- 
land, the United States, and Canada in 
cricket ; because, while cricket is one of the 
great national games of England, baseball is 
the corresponding national game of the States 
and lacrosse of Canada, Consequently the 
question, " h How does England stand in 
games?" concerns chiefly England and her 
sons of the blood in the Colonies, 

England by no means enjoys "an over- 
whelming superiority" in this branch of 
athletics — the great games. On facts we 
may have just a little in hand, no more. 

Supremacy in cricket is disputed between 
England and Australia alone, What cricket 
is played on the Continent is negligible in 
this context. In America the Phibdelphians 
are good players up to a certain point, about 
medium - county form : and the Canadians 

are, perhaps, not far behind them* The 
South Africans are coming cricketers, full 
of bright promise, but as yet they are not 
above strong-county form. The West Indies 
appear to be about equal to a minor county. 
But in representative international cricket 
England and Australia are in a class by 

On results the Australians are at present 
the best cricketers in the world : by the 
matches played recently both in England 
and Australia they have a distinct margin in 
their favour Results, it is true, are not the 
whole tale in cricket. 

But, in sum, even granting England a doubt- 
ful and attenuated precedence in cricket 
skill, the cricket honours of the world are 
with Australia, whether you judge by match- 
results or by comparative merit. The amount 
of first-class cricket played in Australia com- 
pared with that played in England is very 
small. England can no longer fairly claim 
the world's championship in cricket. Advance 
Australia ! 

In football, now the real national game 
of England, the limits of international 
comparison are narrow. Outside the British 
Isles important football is played only in 
America and Australia; and America and 
Australia have football games of their own. 
In Association football the world's champion- 
ship lies between England and Scotland ; in 
Rugby, between the four countries of the 
British Isles. But in this survey England 
includes Scotland, Ireland, and Wales. 
Australia plays a modified form of Rugby, 
and the Colonials are grand exponents of 
their own game ; probably a picked 
Australian team would beat a picked 
British team under the Australian rules (the 
chief peculiarity of which is bouncing 
the ball during a run) until the British 
players had a good deal of practice ; then 
the two might play about level The 
American game is an extremely developed, dis- 
guised, and bescienced Rugby, eleven aside. 
It is a fine but undoubtedly dangerous game. 
Armour is necessary. No English team could 
compete with even moderate success under 
American rules without years of education. 
Nor would any American team have a look in 
against a good English Rugby team under our 
rules* It is impossible to decide, with allow- 
ance for differences, whether England or 
America produces the finer footballers, It 

by LiOOgle 





would, however, be difficult to rebut an 
American claim for equality. Probably if we 
could start all the world fair Scotland would 
go farthest in football ; and Scotland is 
England. But there is no assured "over- 
whelming superiority." 

It is, perhaps* worth mentioning that 
Association flourishes in Australia, New 
Zealand, andatthe Cape, We may some day 
hear as much from our Colonies in football 
as in cricket. 

And, in parentheses, it is not generally 
realized in England how much football and 
cricket are now played on the Continent, 
The cricket is chiefly confined to France. 
But there are a large number of football clubs 
in France, Belgium, Germany, Austria, and 
Hungary, It is interesting to note that pre- 
cisely now, when we in England are giving 
tongue about games being overdone in our 
public schools, the Continental schools, 
especially in France, 
are doing their best 
to introduce game* 
and make them popu- 
lar with the boys. It 
is said that the Ger- 
man Emperor has a 
kind and envious eye 
for cricket and foot- 
ball. The rumour is 
probably true ; he is 
a wise and far-seeing 

In the one instance 
where we have adopted 
an alien national game 
we have as yet made 
no great progress. To 
wit, in lacrosse, the 
national ball-game of 
Canada, which the 
Canadians learnt from 
the American— as we 
polo from the Oriental 
— Indians, The game /**»■■] 
is now fairly estab- 
lished in England and is in a progressive 
state, but it is not yet awhile a first-rate 
English game in the sense that our best 
athletes lake it up and devote themselves 
to it. Football holds too heavy sway 
with us. The Toronto team which visited 
England last season played sixteen matches 
and won them all with ease— as easily as 
Yorkshire would win cricket matches in 

There is not yet any real ground for 
comparison between England and either 

Canada or America in. lacrosse. But in 
relation to our athletic supremacy it is worth 
noting that lacrosse is a magnificent game, 
every jot as capacious for athletic qualities as 
football, The Canadians can with reason 
claim that lacrosse is as good as football, 
and that if we are first in football they are 
equally as much in front of us in their own 
great ball-game* 

Turning to games which, though excellent 
in themselves, do not happen to be the 
national games of any county but which are 
much played in England, we certainly seem 
to have a bit in hand over the rest of the 
world. The result of this comparison points, 
perhaps, to some pre-eminence on our part 
in versatility, but to nothing else— certainly 
nut to pre-eminence in fundamental athletic 

In golf the world's championship lies 
between England (including Scotland) and 

Vol- xxv —23. 

,d and ,, 


America, The Americans have gone into 
golf with all their native intensity and 
address, and have made great progress in it. 
Have they not, t jo, invented the Haskell 
ball ? But none of their best players, though 
good, have yet reached the high standard of 
the best Scotch and English golfers, profes- 
sional or amateur. But there is this to say : 
America has learnt golf from England very 
much more quickly than England learnt it 
from Scotland. For future years this point 
is interestingLriqAtabfesifnt, however, Vardon 


i 7 8 


is probably the 
best golfer in 
the world, and 
he is ours* 

I titer national 
lawn -tennis is 
not easily dealt 
with* In so far 
as recent re- 
sults prove any- 
thing England 
is champion, 
for the honour 
lies between 
England and 
America, and 
our two best 
men, the bro- 
thers R. F. and 
H* L* Doherty, 
who went last 
season to the 
States and took 
part in the 
won the double 

championships and the gold cup. But 
America won the singles. In racquets and 
tennis Peter Latham, of England, is still 
undoubted champion of the world. 

Polo ought perhaps to be reckoned as 
a true national game* It is the national 
game of the In- 
dian Princes and 
of Anglo-Indian^ 
soldier atid civi- 
lian. It is cer- 
tainly one of the 
greatest games. 
On results Eng- 
land stands first , 
for we have 
hitherto won the 
only international 
matches that 
have been played 
— t hose with 
America. I^ast 
season an Ameri- 
can team visited 
England and 
played a series of 
l n tern at i onal 
matches at Hur- 
lit gham. The first 
match went to 
the Americans by 
two goals to one, 

CHjlMPIQH golfer of the wui 



but England 
won the other 
two. S t i 1 1 , 
American polo 
has improved 
greatly since 
1886, when an 
English team 
went to the 
States and had 
no difficulty in 
bringing back 
the challenge 
cup to Hurling- 
ham. It does 
not seem that 
ou superiority 
over America 
in polo is at 
all consider- 
able : it might, 
in the light of 
America's rapid 
progress in the 
game and oi 
her history in 
other branches 
of athletics, even be termed precarious, 
Nor must we forget the splendid polo played 
in India by the teams of the native Princes 
—of the late Maharajah of Patiala, for 
instance ; these Indian polo-players seem to 
be much more than the equals of the best 

regimental teams 

in India. It ap- 
pears quite doubt- 
ful whether a 
re preventative 
English would 
beat a represen- 
tative Indian polo 
team. In any 
case f here again 
we have no 
superiority TJ : not 
a vestige of it. 
The Jodhpur 
team beat all 
opponents in 
England a few 
years ago. The 
Ulwar team is 
now the best in 
India, and proba- 
bly in the world. 
Dhokal Singh is 
probably the best 
individual polo 




J 79 

From a Photo, fey bang fUr, fJd, 

player of the day: he plays for Jodh- 

Polo gives a convenient transition to rid- 
ing and horsemanship. Here we have no 
precise facts to go 
on* M The average 
English hunting 
man regards a 
French exponent 
of P equitation 
savante with a 
self-satisfied air of 
superiority, if not 
of contempt, 
which is fully re- 
ciprocated ; while 
a Texas broncho 
buster, wi t h 
equally bad rea- 
son, would look on 
both as duffers." 
And so on. We 
may have no supe- 
riors in riding, but 
we appear to have 
many equals. 

Jockeyship is a sphere of insoluble dispute, but 
the American jockeys have certainly given our 
English ideas of race-riding a considerable shake 
up. It is all very well to call their style trick- 
riding, not horsemanship : it seems to succeed* 
Johnny Rieff may or may not be as good a rider 
as Mornington Cannon, but Americans might 
very fairly claim at least equality for their able 

But America has a louder challenge for us 
on another score. What of boxing? Boxing 
was once, par excellence, the pride and preserve 
of England, How are we now? Captain \V. 
Edgeworth Johnstone, in his book on boxing, 
has a pointed chapter on American boxers v. 
English. He remarks on the extraordinary 
success of American boxers in this country of 
late years. Apparently we are outclassed. 
" With the exception of Pedlar Palmer, the 
bantam-weight champion, and Dick Burge, the 
light-weight," he writes, "it is almost impossible 
to put one's finger on a first-rate man in the 
United Kingdom- At the present moment we 
are without a single man in either the heavy 
or middle-weight division with any pretension 
to first-class form* 1 ' After analyzing the causes 
of their superiority Captain Edgew T orth-John- 
s to tie sums up the case as follows : The 
Americans are more scientifically trained, and 
consequently strip in better condition for 
their work. Their style, freer and more 
unconventional than ours, permits of more 
opportunities for a large variety of effec- 
tive hits, especially for severe upper-cutting 
with both hands. They make more use 
of their right hands than our boxers do. 
They are more carefully instructed in 



i So 


"ducking," "feinting/ 1 " clinching, 3J "side- 
slipping/ 5 and in footwork generally. 

It is rather difficult to give America all 
the credit for the excellence of those of her 
citizens who are British-born. But what is 
clear is that American methods and training 
in boxing are better than ours. Their average 
man is far better than ours* As a salve to our 
pride we may recall that Bob Fitzsimmons is 
probably, in spite of his defeats by James 
J. Jeffries, the American heavy-weight, " not 
only the finest fighter of the day, but the 
finest fighter that ever donned a 'mitten 1 "; 
and though Bob Fitzsim mouses boxing is 
American his birth is English. No wonder 
he is a champion. He was born in hardy 
Cornwall, was partly trained in progressive 
Australia, and finished his education in 
ingenious America. The worst of it is, the 
credit of his hyper-excellence belongs more 
to America than to us. And even then, on 
results, Jeffries is at present champion; and 
in him we have no rights at all. 

So far as can be judged from records, the 
swimming laurels of the world are ours. 
The last Anglo-American international race 
was between J, Nuttall and McClusker, 
NuLiall beat the American with some ease; 
and he is regarded by the best judges 
as the best racing swimmer England or 
any other country has yet produced. At 
present Australia is undoubtedly strong in 
swimmers. F. C. V, Lane, of Sydney, holds 
the records at one hundred* two hundred 
and twenty, and three hundred yards; and 
Cavill, another 
Australian, the re- 
cord at half a mile. 
But most of the 
standard distance 
records up to one 
mile are held by 
Englishmen, No 
Colonial or for- 
eigner has really 
approached the 
racing figures of 
J. Nuttall and J. H. 
Tyers. Nor has 
any swimmer of any 
nation gone near 
the long -distance 
feats of Captain 
Matthew Webb, the 
only man who yet has swum the Channel His 
nearest rival is M. Holbein, also of England. 

In rowing, comparisons are difficult. 
Times are nearly valueless ■ weather and 
tide make such huge differences. In eight- 

oared rowing we assume ourselves to be 
supreme* The Oxford and Cambridge boat- 
race is mi generis. The American Univer- 
sities compete with one another, but, if our 
own expert judges are correct, none of the 
American are yet in the same class as our 
' Varsity oarsmen. American rowing has 
been handicapped chiefly by the attempt to 
adapt the professional sculling stroke to 
eight-oared racing. Then, too, the coach- 
ing policy of some of their Universities 
has been vacillating and changeable. How- 
ever, an American expert authority writes that 
" Cornell, profiting by experience, . . . 
has produced a stroke which appears to 
combine in a masterful way the maximum 
of power with the minimum of effort. It 
combines the best of the English with the 
best elements of the American style. It 
lacks the extreme swing back of the typical 
English, and the extreme slide and arm-work 
of what has been called the typical American. 
There is no wasted energy or misdirected 

The history of the sculling championship 
of the world does not carry us very deep- 
It rather resembles boxing, in being a one 
man or two men affair per annum, with a 
deal of paper fighting. According to sta- 
tistics, England, after winning from 1831 till 
1 8 75 1 has been sadly out of it since. After 
1875 E. Trickett, of Australia, won for two 
years, then E. Han Ian, of Canada, for six 
years, when he was beaten by another Austra- 
lian, W. Beach. Australia held the champion- 

From a] 

Obuktiii Tatties, scullixg champion 


ship from that time down to 1896, when J. 
Gaudaur, of Canada, won. The present 
champion , Ceorge Towns, is an Australian. 
In fact, on results Australia is the leading 
sculling nation, with Canada second, The 



big waters of Australia and Canada have 
altogether outrivalled our modest Tyne. 

As we are rather prone to exalt ourselves 
in our own estimation at the expense of our 
Continental neighbours on the score of our 
athletic superiority, it may be instructive to 
see how we and they stand towards each 
other in those branches of athletics where we 
meet on more or less common ground. 

As this common ground is rather limited 
we may include fencing and gymnastics, 
though we do not as a nation devote our- 
selves seriously to either. As regards fencing, 
it appears that some of our best exponents, 
such as Sir Frederick Pollock and Mr. 
Egerton Castle, are foemen worthy of the 
most expert French and Italian steel. But, 
in general, France and Italy have every right 
to treat our incapacity in foil or rapier play 
with just the same contempt as some of us 
mete out to their ignorance of the use of 
cricket bat and football. Practically every 
French and Italian gentleman is an expert 
with foil and rapier ; not one in ten thousand 
of our young bloods can use either weapon 
even passably. 

Gymnastics are rather a doubtful subject. 
It is generally agreed that on the average the 
Germans and the Swedes are the best 
gymnasts. These nations, however, appear 
to devote themselves more thoroughly and 
heartily than others to bars, horizontal and 
parallel. It is significant that English boys in 
Germany observe at once that there gymnas- 
tics take the place of our field games. Such 
gymnastic feats as can be reduced to figures 
appear, however, to favour the Americans. 
But perhaps the Americans alone have 
troubled to record these feats. They have, 
it seems, the world's records for " pull- 
ing up the body with the arms " ; for 
rope-climbing against time; for vaulting; 
and for parallel-bar feats. But are statis- 
tics of this particular kind recorded out- 
side Yankee-land ? The record for Indian- 
club swinging for endurance is with Mr. Tom 
Burrows, of London — thirty hours to wit: 
and Mr. Burrows is an Australian. Strange 
how these Australians permeate athletics ! 
He is a remarkable athlete : light-weight 
champion of Australia, and a fine swimmer, 
runner, and jumper. The many champion 
weight-lifters differ^ among themselves as to 
who is the strongest man on earth. The 
English and American champions as yet hare 
done the loudest talking ; other countries are 
either championless or inaudible. But most 
of the champions have started physical 
culture schools (by correspondence) before 

bringing their claims to trial by iron and 
lead. So in the matter of weights the 
nations must wait. 

In the only two branches of athletics where 
England can really be compared with Con- 
tinental nations, as well as with America and 
the Colonies, on terms approximately level 
and fair for all parties— namely, in speed- 
skating and cycle-racing — it is rather discon- 
certing to find that the records work out by 
no means altogether in our favour ; nor, for 
the matter of that, in favour of America or 
the Colonies. Skating and cycling are a 
curious pair to be the common meeting- 
ground in athletics of .the greatest number of 

Figure-skating is not considered because, 
though its characteristic qualities, gracefulness 
and precision of poise, are genuine athletic 
qualities which enter, for instance, in an 
important degree into such great games as 
cricket and football, and also into track 
athletics, figure-skating is not usually regarded 
as an athletic feat. Moreover, the English 
style and its points differ radically from the 

In speed-skating the English, Dutch, Nor- 
wegian, Swedish, Canadian, and American 
champion exponents are all first-rate, and 
were it possible to bring about a genuinely 
representative international championship 
meeting between them, the winner would 
scarcely be known in advance. On actual 
time records, which are usually given as 
world's records, the Americans come first. 
From a hundred yards to as many miles, out 
of thirteen recognised distances, they hold 
five of these records; Sweden holds three, 
Norway two, England one ; one is divided 
between America and Sweden, one between 
America and Norway. But these records are 
really not at all conclusive ; probably others, 
equally accurate and representative, could be 
compiled to show any one of the six nations 
first. In what are given as the international 
skating records, for five distances from five 
hundred to ten thousand metres, Norway 
holds four championships, by P. Oestlund, 
and Holland one, by J. Eden. But did 
representative English or American skaters 
compete in these races at Davos and Hamar? 

In speed-skating conditions not only vary 
so greatly in different places and at different 
times, but make such great odds for and 
against, that comparative time records, except 
on the same day in the same place, are value- 
less as a criterion of actual merit. The wind 
can make huge differences, and so can the 
quality of ice. A straight .run down-wind on 




perfect ice is not comparable with a two- 
turn run on rough ice. Dutch ice is better 
than English, and Norwegian than Dutch. 
And courses vary. The English courses 
have mostly been two straights between two 
turns round small barrels ; those on the 
Continent, oval-shaped with rounded ends. 
The latter seem to give faster times for 
skaters accustomed to them. During the 
races in 1891 in Norway between James 
Smart, of Welney, and H. Hagen, the Nor- 
wegian, the English skater manifestly lost on 
his opponent at the turning curves, to which 
he was unaccustomed. To choose a cham- 
pion nation is impossible. Considering the 
little skating we have and the conditions 
of our Fen courses compared with those on 
the Continent and in America, and also the 
actual performances of the famous Smarts, 
<c Turkey," " Fish," and James, we may con- 
sider English skating decidedly good. But 
probably Norway or Holland has the best 
right to the world's championship. 

In cycle-racing neither England nor even 
the English-speaking countries have any 
exclusive proprietary rights in records. But 
it is necessary to speak with extreme caution 
about cycle records. Except to the expert 
they are a maze of standing and flying starts, 
paced and unpaced races, runs against time 
i ^nd against man, and so on, with thirty horse- 
power motors intervening. With the facts 
none but a brisk daily journal can keep 

The Crystal Palace emits a record any day 
of the week. But there is no particular reason 
for being up-to date in cycling records, so 
much depends on wind, weather, tracks, and 
machines. Tracks and machines improve 
daily, and machines make or mar men. On 
a somewhat historical survey it appears 
that in short "sprints" the Americans 
are ahead, while at long distances the 
French seem in general pre-eminent, chiefly 
by the performances of two altogether 
remarkable riders, Huret and Rivierre. A 
Dutchman, M. Cordang, has also been 
notably to the fore over long distances. 
The American superiority in "sprint-riding" 
is very interesting, as it is precisely parallel 
to a similar superiority in sprint-running. 
The American short-distance cycling times 
are extraordinary ; and it certainly seems as 
though the climate there particularly suits 
fast short efforts, for a celebrated English 
rider, J. Michael, eclipsed all his previous 
English times when he went to the States. 
But American sprint-cyclists have done well 
in Europe; so, perhaps, as in boxing and 

Digitized by V_t* 

in running, methods of practice and of train- 
ing make part of the difference. 

As regards Continental long - distance 
superiority, it is not easy to be sure how far 
it still holds good on up-to-date time records. 
But the average French distance-rider seems 
still to be the best in the world. 

A complete list of records up to 1897 
shows the Americans leading at all recognised 
distances below one mile ; the British, from 
one to thirty-two miles, from fifty-one to one 
hundred, and from two hundred and sixty 
to two hundred and ninety. All the rest 
were then credited to Continental riders. 
Huret held those from thirty-three to fifty 
miles, and from one hundred and ten to one 
hundred and twenty. M. Cordang those 
from one hundred and thirty to two hundred 
and twenty. Then Huret again, from two 
hundred and thirty to two hundred and fifty. 
Then A. Rivierre from three hundred to five 
hundred miles. So in 1897 the Continentals 
were easily the foremost bicyclists. Long- 
distance cycling is the true test of this branch 
of athletics. 

According to the list of records in 
" Whitaker," the Americans are still to the 
front in sprints, chiefly by " Major " Taylor. 
A. Baug£, a Frenchman, holds the record at 
fifty and one hundred miles. On distances 
reckoned in kilometres, J. Michael, of Eng- 
land, leads from five to five hundred. 
Baug£ again at one hundred, and A. E. 
Walters at one thousand. But Walters has 
since done other records. 

However, the French appear, on general 
grounds, to be really the premier cyclists of 
the world. The reason seems to be that 
long-distance cycle-racing flourishes better in 
France than elsewhere. Their climate debars 
the Americans from long distances ; and by 
temperament they prefer in all things what is 
short, quick, and immediate. In England 
cycle-racing of all sorts has, for various 
reasons, declined and is no longer popular. 
In France it is extremely popular, and is 
accepted, as in England, for good or bad 
reasons, it never was, in the light of a first- 
rate sport. Elizabeth, she of the Letters, 
when she stayed at Chateau de Croixmare, 
could not understand why Jean, in the 
tightest of knickers, went round and round 
the pond on his bicycle before breakfast. 
Why not along the road ? No ; he could not 
then tell the exact tale of his morning miles. 
Such is the French and English point of 
view. English Elizabeth had no sympathy 
with Jean's " path records." 

How far bicycling is a real test of athletic- 




From a I'httUi. by] 


ism remains a matter of dispute. The machine 
is a disturbing factor. Rut that long-distance 
cycling is a test of stamina, and a most exacting 
test, admits of no doubt. Yet here we are 
apparently behind the very Frenchman whose 
athletics some of us do ourselves the honour of 
laughing at I 

In any pursuit involving the qualities of the 
mkaniden in any degree the French are to the 
fore* They, of course, regard automobilism as 
distinctly athletic. The average Englishman 
cannot away with this, and asks if engine-driving 
is athletic. But, all the same, automobilism of 
the kind allowed on the Continent — full-speed 
races from Paris to Marseilles or Berlin — is 
undoubtedly a severe, a very sever e, test of 
nerve and stamina: assuredly important athletic 
qualities^ these. The man who uses a motor- 
car merely instead of a brougham or landau is 
not an athlete on that score- But men who 
race — like Maurice Farman, Charles Jarrott, 
Chev. de KnyfT, and the Hon. C S. Rolls— are 
of another kidney. Anyhow, if automobilism is 
in any degree athletic, France is equal, if not 
superior, to England, 

Track athletics form almost a subject apart, 
and might be dealt with at considerable lengdi. 
The gist of the matter is that no non-English- 
Sffeaking nation has yet produced a world's 
record - holder, or, indeed, provided its sons 
with a chance of becoming one ; that, although 
the British Colonies have produced one or two 
athletes of supereminent ability, notably Godfrey 
Shaw, the great New Zealand hurdler, and M. 

Roseingrave, a 
remarkable Austra- 
lian long - jumper, 
the world's records 
are now with 
America and Eng- 
land exclusively ; 
and that America 
now is much ahead 
in the standard 

In sprint-racing, 
hurdling, jumping, 
and hammer-throw- 
ing America is 
supreme. England, 
however, holds her 
own in the long 

In running 
America holds the 
records at all dis- 
tances from one 
hundred to a thou- 
sand yards. The 
one hundred yards champion, A, F. Duffy, 
has the marvellous time of 9 3~5th sec. to 
his credit. B. J* Wefers, another remark- 
able sprinter, has done the two hundred 
and twenty yards in 21 r-jth sec, not 
to mention the one hundred yards in 
9 4-gth sec. No Englishman is credited 
with under 10 sec. in the one hundred 
yards, though, perhaps, Downer and 

[Mr, Frtdzric Gotem. 


Fr&tl 11 PKtic jjt I*. U CVrifcfTv H'ic ter/unj. 




Bradley have beaten that time, Two New 
Zeatonders are credited with 9 4 5th sec, 
W. T. Macpherson and J. H. Hempton. In 
the quarter-mile W. M. Baker made the grand 
time of 47 3-5th sec. t as against the English 
best, 48$, by H. C Tindall. C J. Kil- 
Patrick's American half mile time is 1 mtn, 
S3 2-5th sea, as against F. J. K. Cross's 
1 min„ 54 3-5 th sec 

In the longer distances, from one to one 
hundred miles, we hold the records. But 
actual athletic 
sports events 
really do not 
include any dis- 
tance over 
three miles. 
W. G. George's 
mile record, 
4 m i n . 1 2 Y± 
sec + , is usually 
regarded as 
relatively the 
best record 
that has yet 
been made in 
distance run- 

In hurdle- 
racing A, C. 
Kraenzlein has 
done 15 15th 
sec* for one 
hundred and 
twenty yards in 
America, and 
he is un- 
doubtedly the finest hurdler the world 
has yet seen. The high-jump record be- 
longs to M. F. Sweeney, an American, at 
6ft* 5^ in. ; P. P. Leahy, of Ireland, has 
done 6ft 4^ in. The long-jump record is 
ours : P, O'Connor, an Irishman, has 
jumped 24ft. n^in. A Canadian, C. R- 
Gray, has put the weight farthest, 47ft. ; our 
best is 46ft. 5%in. by an Irish champion, 
D. Hor^an. The hammer-throw belongs to 
J. H. Flanagan, of America, with 171ft. gin. 

It is worth noting that both Sweeney, the 
high-jumper, and Flanagan, the hammer- 
thrower7 are Irish -born, though American 
citizens. Taking this together with other 
facts, it is clear that the Irish are the finest 
natural jumpers, weight putters, and hammer- 
throwers ; and of this tlu*re is no question, 

It is also clear that the American methods 
are the best in hammer-throwing and weight- 
putting. For, apart from actual records, 


/<Vffm a] 


their average standard is far higher than ours* 
And the same may be said of their hurdling 
and jumping. It is also certain that the 
Americans are either equal or superior to us 
in natural sprinting ability, and that their 
methods of training for short races are better 
than ours. As was mentioned in reference 
to cycling, the American climate is more 
favourable than ours to sprint running ; and 
it is also more favourable to jumping and 
The members of the London 
Athletic team 
which went to 
New York a 
few years ago, 
though not 
well trained* 
i lid better per- 
there at short 
distances than 
they had ever 
done in Eng- 
land. But no 
first-rate Ameri- 
can sprinter, 
hurdler,or jum- 
per who has 
come to Eng- 
land has yet 
failed to make 
good the supe- 
riority indi- 
cated by his 
times, even if 
he has failed 
quite to equal those times over here* 
It ts the story of boxing over again. 
The American system of training and of 
practice is more scientific than ours. They 
are less conservative, ready to try all sug- 
gestions of theory, and to adopt them if 
found useful In their athletics they are the 
most scientific, elaborate, and detailed of 
physical culturists. They succeed. 

There is not the same scojkj for elaborate 
scientific training in long-distance running. 
Englishmen are undoubtedly finer distance 
runners than Americans. We are best in 
stamina, they in pace* 

But it is sufficiently clear that, wherever 
brains and ingenuity can work for improve- 
ment, they progress while we stand still 
Perhaps with us athletics are more of a sport 
and a pleasure. But the Americans get the 
results ; and on actual records they, and not 
we, are the world's champions in track athletics. 
Original from 





HE tall clock in the corner of 
the small living-room had just 
struck eight as Mr. Samuel 
Gunnifl came stealthily down 
the winding staircase and, 
opening the door at the foot, 
stepped with an appearance of great care 
and humility into the room. He noticed 
with some anxiety that his daughter Selina 
was apparently engrossed in her task of 
attending to the plants in the window, and 
that no preparations whatever had been 
made for breakfasL 

Miss GunnilPs horticultural duties seemed 
interminable. She snipped off dead leaves 
with painstaking precision, and administered 
water with the jealous care of a druggist 
compounding a prescription ; then, with her 
hack still towards him, she gave vent to a 
sigh far too intense in its nature to have 
reference to such trivialities as plants, She 
repeated it twice, and at the second time Mr. 
GunniU, almost without his knowledge, uttered 
a deprecatory cough. 

His daughter turned with alarming swift- 

Vol, xxv, ^ 24* Copyright p 1903* by W + W, Jacobs 

Digili OOglC 

ness and, holding herself very upright, 
favoured him with a glance in which indig- 
nation and surprise were very fairly mingled. 

t( That white one — that one at the end," 
said Mr, GunniU, with an appearance of 
concentrated interest, M that's my fav'rite." 

Miss GunniU put her ,hands together, and 
a look of infinite long-suffering came upon 
her face, but she made no reply, 

" Always has been," continued Mr, 
GunniU, feverishly, u from a — from a 

11 Bailed out," said Miss GunniU, m a deep 
and thrilling voice ; " bailed out at one 
o'clock in the morning, brought home singing 
loud enough for half-a-dozen, and then talk- 
ing about flowers ! " 

Mr, GunniU coughed again. 

"I was dreaming," pursued Miss GunniU, 
plaintively, "sleeping peacefully, when I was 
awoke by a horrible noise." 

" That couldn't ha* been me," protested her 
father. "I was only a bit cheerful. It was 
Benjamin Ely's birthday yesterday, and after 
we left the Lion they started singing, and I 

in the United Smr? of Amimta. 




just hummed to keep 3 em company. I wasn't 
singing, mind you, only humming — when up 
com us that interfering Cooper and takes me 

Miss Gunnill shivered, and with her pretty 
cheek: in her hand sat by the window the 
very picture of despondency. M Why didn't 
he take the others ? " she inquired. 

" AA/" said Mr. Gunnill, with great em- 
phasis, M that's what a lot more of us would 
like to know. FVaps if you'd been more 
polite to Mrs. Cooper, instead o* putting it 
about that she looked young enough to be 
his mother, it wouldn't have happened." 

His daughter shook her head impatiently 
and, on Mr. Gunnill making an allusion to 
breakfast, expressed surprise that he had got 
the heart to eat anything. Mr. Gunnill 
pressing the point, however, she arose and 
began to set the table, the undue care with 
which she smoothed out the creases of the 
tablecloth, and the mathematical exactness 
with which she placed the various articles, 
all being so many extra smarts in his wound. 
When she finally placed on the table enough 
food for a dozen people he began to show 
signs of a tittle spirit. 

*' Ain't you going to have any ? " he 
demanded, as Miss Gunnill resumed her seat 
by the window, 

11 Me t " said the girl, with a 
shudder. " Breakfast ? The dis- 
grace is breakfast enough for 
me. I couldn't eat a morsel ; 
it would choke 

Mr. Gunnill eyed 
her over the rim of 
his teacup. " 1 come 
down an hour ago/ T 
he said, casually, as 
he helped himself to 
some bacon. 

Miss Gunnill 
started despite her- 
self. "Obi" she 
said, listlessly. 

" And I see you 
making a very good 
breakfast all by your- 
self in the kitchen/* 
continued her father, 
in a voice not free 
from the taint of 

The discomfited 
Selina rose and stood 
regarding him ; Mr. 
Ciunnill, after a vain 

attempt to meet her gaze, busied himself 
with his meal. 

"The idea of watching every mouthful I 
eat!" said Miss Gunnill, tragically; "the idea 
of complaining because I have some break- 
lust ' I'd never have believed it of you, 
never I It's shameful ! Fancy grudging 
your own daughter the food she eats ! " 

Mr, Gunnill eyed her in dismay. In his 
confusion he had overestimated the capacity 
of his mouth, and he now strove in vain to 
reply to this shameful perversion of his 
meaning. His daughter stood watching him 
with Ljrief in one eye and calculation in the 
other, and, just as he had put himself into a 
position to exercise his rights of free speech, 
gave a pathetic sniff and walked out of the 

She stayed indoors all day, but the neces- 
sity of establishing his innocence took Mr. 
Gunnill out a great deal His neighbours, 
in the hope of further excitement, warmly 
pressed him to go to prison rather than pay 
a fine, and instanced the example of an 
officer in the Salvation Army who, in very 
different circumstances, had elected to take 
that course. Mr. Gunnill assured them that 
only his known antipathy to the army, and 
the fear of being regarded as one of its 


by Google 

Original from 



followers, prevented him from doing so. He 
paid instead a fine of ten shillings, and after 
listening to a sermon, in which his silver 
hairs served as the text, was permitted to 

His feeling against Police-constable Cooper 
increased with the passing of the days. The 
constable watched him with the air of a 
proprietor, and Mrs. Cooper's remark that 
" her husband had had his eye upon him for 
a long time, and that he had better be care- 
ful for the future," was faithfully retailed to 
him within half an hour of its utterance. 
Convivial friends counted his cups for him ; 
teetotal friends more than hinted that Cooper 
was in the employ of his good angel. 

Miss Gunnill's two principal admirers had 
an arduous task to perform. They had to 
attribute Mr. Gunnill's disaster to the vindic- 
tiveness of Cooper, and at the same time to 
agree with his daughter that it served him 
right. Between father and daughter they 
had a difficult time, Mr. Gunnill's sensitive- 
ness having been much heightened by his 

'* Cooper ought not to have taken you," 
said Herbert Sims for the fiftieth time. 

u He must ha' seen you like it dozens o' 
times before," said Ted Drill, who, in his 
determination not to be outdone by Mr. 
Sims, was not displaying his usual judgment. 
"Why didn't he take you then? That's 
what you ought to have asked the magis- 

" I don't understand you," said Mr. 
Gunnill, with an air of cold dignity. 

" Why," said Mr. Drill, " what I mean is— 
look at that night, for instance, when " 

He broke off suddenly, even his enthusiasm 
not being proof against the extraordinary con- 
tortions of visage in which Mr. Gunnill was 

" When ? " prompted Selina and Mr. Sims 
together. Mr. Gunnill, after first daring him 
with his eye, followed suit. 

" That night at the Crown," said Mr. 
Drill, awkwardly. " You know ; when you 
thought that Joe Baggs was the landlord. 
You tell 'em ; you tell it best. I've roared 
over it." 

" I don't know what you're driving at," said 
the harassed Mr. Gunnill, bitterly. 

" JJ J m ! " said Mr. Drill, with a weak laugh. 
44 I've been mixing you up with somebody 

Mr. Gunnill, obviously relieved, said that 
he ought to be more careful, and pointed 
out, with some feeling, that a lot of mischief 
was caused that way. 

"Cooper wants a lesson, that's what he 
wants," said Mr. Sims, valiantly. " He'll get 
his head broke one of these days." 

Mr. Gunnill acquiesced. " I remember 
when I was on the Peewit" he said, musingly, 
44 one time when we were lying at Cardiff, 
there was a policeman there run one of our 
chaps in, and two nights afterwards another 
of our chaps pushed the policeman down in 
the mud and ran off with his staff and his 

Miss Gunnill's eyes glistened. "What 
happened ? " she inquired. 

44 He had to leave the force," replied her 
father ; " he couldn't stand the disgrace of it. 
The chap that pushed him over was quite a 
little chap, too. About the size of Herbert 

Mr. Sims started. 

44 Very much like him in face, too," 
pursued Mr. Gunnill; " daring chap he 


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Miss Gunnill sighed. "I wish he lived in 
Littlestow," she said, slowly. " I'd give any- 
thing to take that horrid Mrs. Cooper down 
a bit. Cooper would be the laughing-stock 
of the town." 

Messrs. Sims and Drill looked unhappy. 
It was hard to have to affect an attitude of 
indifference in the face of Miss Gunnill's 
lawless yearnings; to stand before her as 
respectable and law-abiding cravens. Her 
eyes, large and sorrowful, dwelt on them 

44 If I — I only get a chance at Cooper ! " 
murmured Mr. Sims, vaguely. 

To his surprise, Mr. Gunnill started up 
from his chair and, gripping his hand, shook 
it fervently. He looked round, and Selina 
was regarding him with a glance so tender 
that he lost his head completely. Before 
he had recovered he had pledged himself 
to lay the helmet and truncheon of the 
redoubtable Mr. Cooper at the feet of Miss 
Gunnill ; exact date not specified. 

44 Of course, I shall have to wait my oppor- 
tunity," he said, at last. 

44 You wait as long as you like, my boy," 
said the thoughtless Mr. Gunnill. 

Mr. Sims thanked him. 

44 Wait till Coopers an old man," urged 
Mr. Drill. 

Miss Gunnill, secretly disappointed at the 
lack of boldness and devotion on the part 
of the latter gentleman, eyed his stalwart 
frame indignantly and accused him of trying 
to make Mr. Sims as timid as himself. She 
turned to the valiant Sims and made herself 
so agreeable to that daring blade that Mr. 

Original from 



Drill, a prey to violent jealousy, bade the 
company a curt good-night and withdrew. 

He stayed away for nearly a week, and 
then one evening as he approached the 
house, carrying a carpet-bag, he saw the 
door just opening to admit the fort ana te 
Herbert He 
quickened his 
pace and ar- 
rived just in 
time to follow 
him in, Mr, 
S i m s, who 
bore under his 
arm a brown- 

Mr, Gunnill patted him on the hack. *J 
fancy I can se^ him running bare-headed 
through the town calling for help," he said, 


Mr. Sims shook his head* li Like as not 
it'll be kept quiet for the credit of the force," 


paper parcel, seemed somewhat embarrassed 
at seeing him, and after a brief greeting 
walked into the room, and with a triumphant 
glance at Mr. Gunnill and Selina placed his 
burden on the table* 

" Von — you ain't got it ? " said Mr, 
Gunnill, leaning forward. 

m How foolish of you to run such a risk ! " 
said Selina, 

41 1 brought it for Miss Gunnill," said the 
young man T simply. He unfastened the 
parcel, and to the astonishment of all present 
revealed a policeman^ helmet and a short 
boxwood truncheon. 

" You— you Ye a wonder, "said the gloating 
Mr, Gunnill, ll Look at it, Ted !" 

Mr. Drill was looking at it ; it may be 
doubted whether the head of Mr. Cooper 
itself could have caused him more astonish- 
ment Then his eyes sought those of Mr, 
Sims, but that gentleman was gazing tenderly 
at the gratified but shocked Selina. 

44 How ever did you do it ?" inquired Mr* 

* f Came behind him and threw him down," 
said Mr* Sims, nonchalantly. " He was 
that scared I believe I could have taken his 
boots as well if I'd wanted them." 

by Google 

he said, slowly, "unless, of course, they dis- 
cover who did it" 

A slight shade fell on the good-humoured 
countenance of Mr. Gunnill, but it was 
chased away almost immediately by Sims 
reminding him of the chaff of Coopers 

"And you might take the others away," 
sard Mr. Gunmll, brightening; "you might 
keep on doing it* 

Mr. Sims said doubtfully that he might, 
but pointed out that Cooper would probably 
be on his guard for the future. 

" Yes, you've done your share/ 1 said 
Miss Gunnill, with a half glance at Mr. Drill, 
who was still gazing in a bewildered fashion 
at the trophies. Ct You can come into the 
kitchen and help me draw some beer if you 

Mr Sims followed her joyfully, and 
reaching down a jug for her watched her 
tenderly as she drew the beer. All women 
love valour, but Miss (junnill, gating sadly at 
the slight figure of Mr. Sims, could not help 
wishing that Mr. Drill possessed a little of 
his spirit 

She had just finished her task when a 
tremendous bumping noise was heard in the 

Original from 





living-room, and the plates on the dresser 
were nearly shaken off their shelves. 

14 What's that? " she cried 

They ran to the room and stood aghast in 
the doorway at the spectacle of Mr. Gun nil I, 
with his clenched fists held tightly by his side, 
hounding into the air with all the grace of a 
trained acrobat, while Mr. Drill encouraged 
him from an easy chair, Mr. Gunmll smiled 
broadly as he met their astonished gaze, 
and with a final bound kicked something 
along the floor and subsided into his seat 

Mr, Sims, suddenly enlightened, uttered a 
cry of dismay and, darting under the table, 
picked up what had once been a policeman's 
helmet. Then he snatched a partially con- 
sumed truncheon from die fire, and stood 
white and trembling before the astonished 
Mr* GunnilK 

" What's the matter ? " inquired the latter. 

41 You— you've spoilt 'em," gasped Mr. 

41 What of it?" said Mr. Gunnill, staring. 

' f I was — going to take 'em awajy' stam- 
mered Mr. Sims, 

"Well, they'll be easier to carry now," 
said Mr. Drill, simply. 

Mr. Sims glanced at him sharply, and then, 
to the extreme astonishment of Mr. Gunnill, 
snatched tip the relics and, wrapping them up 
in the paper, dashed out of the house. Mr. 

by OC 


Gunmll turned a took of blank inquiry upon 
Mr. Drill 

"It wasn't Cooper's number on the 
helmet," said that gentleman. 

u Mkt n shouted Mr. Gunnill 

" How do you know?" inquired Selina, 

11 1 just happened to notice, 31 replied Mr. 

He reached down as though to take up the 
carpet-bag which he had placed by the side 
of his chair, and then, apparently thinking 
better of it, leaned back in his seat and eyed 
Mr. Gunnill, 

** Do you mean to tell me," said the latter, 
"that he's been and upset the wrong man ? ■ 

Mr, Drill shook his head. "That's the 
puzzle," he said, softly. 

He smiled over at Miss Gunnill, but that 
young lady, who found him somewhat mys- 
terious, looked away and frowned. Her 
father sat and exhausted conjecture, his final 
conclusion being that Mr, Sims had attacked 
the first policeman that had come in his 
way and was now suffering the agonies of 

He raised his head sharply at the sound 
of hurried footsteps outside. There was a 
smart rap at the street door, then the handle 
was turned, and the next moment, to the 
dismay of all present, the red and angry face 
of one of Mr. Cooper's brother-constables 
was thrust into the room. 

Original from 

i go 


Mr, Gunnill gazed at it in helpless fascina- 
tion, The body of the constable garbed in 
plain clothes followed the face and, standing 
before him in a menacing fashion, held out 
a broken helmet and staff. 

11 Have you seen these afore ? n he in- 
quired, in a terrible voice. 

" No," said Mr, Gunnill> with an attempt 
at surprise* " What are they ? " 

" I'll tell you what they are/ 3 said Police- 
constable Jenkins, ferociously : " they're my 
helmet and truncheon. You've been spoil- 
ing His Majesty's property, and you'll be 
locked up." 

** Yours V said the astonished Mr. Gunnill. 

" I lent 'em to young Sims, just for a joke," 
said the constable. il I felt all along I was 
doing a silly thing." 

"It's no joke/' said Mr. Gunnill, severely, 
11 I'll tell young Herbert what I think of him 
trying to deceive me like that." 

"Never mind alniut deceiving," interrupted 
the constable. "What are you going to do 
about it?" 

"What are you?" inquired Mr. Gunnill, 
hardily. "It seems to me it's between 
you and him ; you'll very likely be dis- 
missed from the force, and all through 
trying to deceive. I wash my hands 
of it." 

" You'd no business to lend it," said 
Drill, interrupting the constable's indig- 
nant retort ; t{ especially for Sims to 
pretend that he had stolen it from 
Cooper. It's a roundabout 
thing, but you can't tell of Mr. 
Gunnill without getting into 
trouble yourself." 

" I shall have to put up with 
that," said the constable, des- 
perately ; "it's got to be ex- 
plained. It's my day- helmet, 
too, and the night one's 
as shabby as can be. 
Twenty years in the 
force and never a mark 
against my name till 

"If you'd only keep 
quiet a bit instead of 
talking so much," said 
Mr. Drill, who had been 
doing some hard think- 
ing, " I might be able to 
help you t pYaps." 

11 How ? " inquired the 

" Help him if you can, 
Ted," said Mr + Gunnill, 

eagerly; "we ought all 10 help others when 
we get a chance." 

Mr* Drill sat bolt upright and looked very 

He took the smashed helmet from the 
table and examined it carefully. It was 
broken in at least half-a-dozen places, and 
he laboured in vain to push it into shape. 
He might as well have tried to make a silk 
hat out of a concertina. The only thing 
that had escaped injury was the metal plate 
with the number. 

" Why don't you mend it?" he inquired, 
at last, 

11 Me nd it ? " shouted the incensed Mr, 
Jenkins. " Why don't you ? " 

"I think I could," said Mr. Drill, slowly ; 
"give me half an hour in the kitchen and 
Til try." 

** Have as long as you like," said Mr. 

i( And I shall want some glue, and Miss 
Gunnill, and some tin~tacks/ T said Drill. 

" What do you want me for ? " inquired 


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Original from 




" To hold the things for me," replied Mr. 

Miss Gunnill tossed her head, but after a 
little demur consented ; and Drill, ignoring 
the impatience of the constable, picked up 
his bag and led the way into the kitchen. 
Messrs. Gunnill and Jenkins, left behind in 
the living-room, sought for some neutral topic 
of discourse, but in vain ; conversation would 
revolve round hard labour and lost pensions. 

From the kitchen came sounds of hammer- 
ing, then a loud " Ooh!" from Miss Gunnill, 
followed by a burst of laughter and a clapping 
of hands. Mr. Jenkins shifted in his seat 
and exchanged glances with Mr. Gunnill. 

" He's a clever fellow," said that gentleman, 
hopefully. " You should hear him imitate a 
canary ; lifelike it is." 

Mr. Jenkins was about to make a hasty 
and obvious rejoinder, when the kitchen door 
opened and Selina emerged, followed by 
Drill. The snarl which the constable had 
prepared died away in a murmur of astonish- 
ment as he took the helmet. It looked as 
good as ever. 

He turned it over and over in amaze, and 
looked in vain for any signs of the disastrous 
cracks. It was stiff and upright. He looked 
at the number: it was his own. His eyes 
round with astonishment he tried it on, and 
then his face relaxed. 

" It don't fit as well as it did," he said. 

"Well, upon my word, some people are 
never satisfied," said the indignant Drill. 
" There isn't another man in England could 
have done it better." 

" I'm not grumbling," said the constable, 
hastily; "it's a wonderful piece o' work. 
Wonderful ! I can't even see where it was 
broke. How on earth did you do it ? " 

Drill shook his head. " It's a secret 
process," he said, slowly. " I might want to 
go into the hat trade some day, and I'm not 
going to give things away." 

" Quite right," said Mr. Jenkins. " Still- 
well, it's a marvel, that's what it is ; a fair 
marvel. If you take my advice you'll go in 
tfie hat trade to-mofrow, my lad." 

"I'm not surprised," said Mr. Gunnill, 
whose face as he spoke was a map of 
astonishment. "Not a bit. I've seen him do 
more surprising things than that. Have a 
go at the staff now, Teddy." 

"I'll see about it," said Mr. Drill, modestly. 
" I can't do impossibilities. You leave it 
here, Mr. Jenkins, and we'll talk about it 
later on." 

Mr. Jenkins, still marvelling over his 
helmet, assented, and, after another reference 

to the possibilities in the hat trade to a man 
with a born gift for repairs, wrapped his 
property in a piece of newspaper and 
departed, whistling. 

"Ted," said Mr. Gunnill, impressively, as 
he sank into his chair with a sigh of relief. 
" How you done it I don't know. It's a sur- 
prise even to me." 

" He is very clever," said Selina, with a 
kind smile. 

Mr. Drill turned pale, and then, somewhat 
emboldened by praise from such a quarter, 
dropped into a chair by her side and began 
to talk in low tones. The grateful Mr. 
Gunnill, more relieved than he cared to 
confess, thoughtfully closed his eyes. 

"I didn't think all along that you'd let 
Herbert outdo you," said Selina. 

" I want to outdo Aim" said Mr. Drill, in 
a voice of much meaning. 

Miss Gunnill cast down her eyes and Mr. 
Drill had just plucked up sufficient courage 
to take her hand when footsteps stopped at 
the house, the handle of the door was 
turned, and, for the second time that even- 
ing, the inflamed visage of Mr. Jenkins 
confronted the company. 

"Don't tell me it's a failure," said Mr. 
Gunnill, starting from his chair. "You 
must have been handling it roughly. It was 
as good as new when you took it away." 

Mr. Jenkins waved him away and fixed 
his eyes upon Drill. 

" You think you're mighty clever, I dare 
say," he said, grimly ; " but I can put two 
and two together. I've just heard of it." 

" Heard of two and two ? " said Drill, 
looking puzzled. 

" I don't want any of your nonsense," said 
Mr. Jenkins. " I'm not on duty now, but I 
warn you not to say anything that may be 
used against you." 

" I never do," said Mr. Drill, piously. 

"Somebody threw a handful o' flour in 
poor Cooper's face a couple of hours ago," 
said Mr. Jenkins, watching him closely, 
"and while he was getting it out of his eyes 
they upset him and made off with his helmet 
and truncheon. I just met Brown and he 
says Cooper's been going on like a madman." 

" By Jove ! it's a good job I mended your 
helmet for you," said Mr. Drill, "or else they 
might have suspected you." 

Mr. Jenkins stared at him. " I know who 
did do it," he said, significantly. 

" Herbert Sims ? " guessed Mr. Drill, in a 
stage whisper. 

" You'll be one o' the first to know," said 
Mr. Jenkins, darkly ; " he'll be arrested 

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U 1 1 I U I I I _' 





to-morrow. Fancy the impudence of it ! It's 

Mr. Drill whistled. "Well, don't let that 
little: affair o' yours with Sims be known," he 
said, quietly. " Have that kept quiet — // 
you Can" 

Mr Jenkins started as though he had been 
stung + In the joy of a case he had over- 
looked one or two things. He turned and 
regarded the young man wistfully. 

" Don't call on me as a witness, that's all/ 1 
continued Mr. Drill. " I never was a mis- 
chief maker, and I shouldn't like to have to 
tell how you lent your helmet to Sims so that 
he could pretend he had knocked Cooper 
down and taken it from him/' 

" Wouldn't look at all well/ 1 said Mr, 
Gumiill, nodding his head sagely. 

Mr. Jenkins breathed hard and looked 
from one to the other. It was plain that it 
was no good reminding them that he had not 
had a case for five years. 

" WJien I say that I know who did it," he 

said, slowly, u I mean that I have my 

"Ah!" said Mr. Drill, "that's a very 
different thing. ?t 

"Nothing like the same," said Mr, 
Gunnill, pouring the constable a glass of 

Mr + Jenkins drank it and smacked his 
lips feebly. 

"Sims needn*t know anything about that 
helmet being repaired," he said at last. 

"Certainly not," said everybody. 

Mr. Jenkins sighed and turned to Drill. 

" It's no good spoiling the ship for a 
ha'porth o' tar," he said, with a faint sus- 
picion of a wink. 

" No," said I JrilK looking puzzled, 

" Anything that's worth doing at all is 
worth doing well," continued the constable, 
" and while I'm drinking another glass with 
Mr. Gunnill here, suppose you go into the 
kitchen with that useful bag o 1 yours and 
finish repairing my truncheon ? " 

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Original from 

"As Others See Us." 

By Gertrude Bacon. 

O see ourselves as others see 
us" is, we frequently declare, 
a gift devoutly to be wished 
for ; and though it has to be 
confessed that this wish is 
more often expressed for the 
benefit of our neighbours than for ourselves, 
yet, undoubtedly, to learn what are -the 
opinions concerning us, what impressions we 
create in other minds, what advantages or 
failings we possess in other eyes, is always 
intensely interesting, and should be not a 
little instructive. 

A short while ago it occurred to the writer 
to approach a certain number of eminent men 
of other nations who were at that time in 
England, or who had, on former occasions, 
paid a visit to our shores, and endeavour to 
gain from them some brief expression of their 
views as to our country and what they had 
seen in it To make the request as modest 
as possible and give as little trouble as might 
be, one single representative question only 
was asked, to which the briefest reply would 
suffice : " What have you been most impressed 
with in all London ? " 

This question has been put to distinguished 
visitors who are representative of many and 
widely-distant countries, and, as it has hap- 
pened, the past year has proved unusually 
favourable for the purpose. A larger con- 
course of foreigners from the remotest 
corners of the globe has lately gathered in 
London than has probably ever been known 
in history. London, too, has displayed herself 
to their gaze in altogether unusual fashion. 
Undemonstrative and reserved as is her 
nature, typical of the Anglo-Saxon character, 
she has, during the dramatic scenes of a 
never-to-be-forgotten summer, been stirred 
to an unwonted display of widely different 
feelings : one hour jubilant, exultant, proud, 
and boastful ; the next, sorrow - stricken, 
helpless, humbled, fearful, dreading each 
moment tidings that would turn the flaunting 
flags and the gay-decked streets into the most 
terrible mockery to be conceived. Our guests 
from other shores saw all this, and saw also 
the brave rally from the crushing blow and 
the chastened, though yet deeper, rejoicings 
that came at length after patient waiting. 

Vol xxv.-26. 

And that what ttiey thus saw impressed 
them not a little \i amply evident. "The 
thitig- that struck me most in London was 
the calmness of the people in passing from 
ahiftiated joy to dignified sadness on hearing 
of the illness Of His Majesty." Thus wrote 
Senor Leon Vallez, special Coronation 
Envoy of Honduras, the far-off Central 
American Republic. The same feeling is 
voiced in the words of an eminent German 
writer, who also has recorded how London at 
Coronation time appealed to him. "The 
human beings were the street decorations 
which I admired/' he says. "Upon the short 
route London had poured its millions. 
Hundreds of thousands, moreover, had come 
from the country and from abroad to witness 
the historic sight. And these millions, who 
stood and sat and squatted in a dense mass, 
represented the spectacle of a crowd which, 
at the moment of intensest excitement, never 
lost its self-restraint." 

Senor Vallez, however, has more to say 
regarding his impre3sions of London : " It 
also appears to me remarkable the manner in 
which the traffic immediately obeys the least 
sign of the police without any recriminations, 
even in the busiest thoroughfares." Is 
mutual recrimination the rule (bf the road), we 
wonder, in the towns of the Honduras 
Republic? We in London have grown so 
accustomed to the orderly, quiet management 
of our teeming streets, and the firm but 
gentle sway of our blue-coated guardians 
(one might almost say guardian angels), 
that we are apt to treat as a matter of course 
an organization which strikes our foreign 
visitors as something very remarkable. Hear 
what our German critic has to say on the 
subject: "Again and again the comparison 
with large Continental cities was forced upon 
me. What an army of police, both mounted 
and on foot, in uniform and masquerading in 
plain clothes, is required even on quite 
unimportant occasions ! — and here we have 
only a handful of constables, amiable and 
obliging, who are both the friends and the 
servants of the public, and can control the 
movements of thousands of free-born men 
and women by a single gesture." High 
praise, indeed ; nor, as wf.ll be s^een, is this 




the last word said 
on the subject by 
our friends of other 
nations. Truly, 
Robert is an admir- 
able institution and 
worthy of all the 
good things that 
can be said of him. 

From the wilds 
of Central Africa — 
from that till lately 
unknown, unex- 
ploited, but fertile, 
and presently to be 
important British 
possession, Uganda 
— came, to attend 
the Coronation, the 
dark -.skinned, but 
shrewd and amia- 
ble. Minister, Apalo 
Katukiro, He came 
to a country as 
widely different 
from his own as can 
well be conceived, 
and to a city the 

like of which he can scarcely have dreamt 
of amid his tropic forests* His opinion of 
I .on don, therefore, as expressed in his own 
characteristic imagery, and signed by his own 
hand, will be read with interest: — 

14 1 wondered at the greatness of London, 
and the streets, and the people like locusts 
in number, and the large 
houses, and the Houses of 
Parliament, and the Cen- 
tral London Railway, and 
the Foreign Office* I was 
pleased with the schools 
and hospitals. — (Signed) 
Apalo Katukiko/' 

The Uganda Minister is 
not singular in his wonder 
at the Houses of Parlia- 
ment. The same great 
building — in truth, a most 
impressive sight of London 
— appealed strongly to Kaid 
Abderrahman Ben Abder- 
sadek, the Moorish Envoy, 
who, with the members of 
his suite, made a special 
pilgrimage thither one day 
last summer It was re- 
marked at the time that just two hundred 
and twenty years before a fellow-countryman 
of his paid a visit to the adjoining palace of 

Digitized by Google 

From it Photo .'■!.■ E#UM & Fr V . 


From a Photo, fry Lafvyttie, 

Whitehall to be 
received by His 
Majesty King 
Charles f and Evelyn 
describes how *' he 
came up to the 
Throne without 
making any sort 
of reverence — not 
bowing his head or 

King Lewanika, 
ebony - coloured 
monarch of Barotse- 
land, was also im- 
pressed with the 
Houses of Parlia- 
ment ; but it was 
the interior thereof 

— more especially 
the House of Lords 

— that seems to 
have astounded 
him. His Majesty, 
with a train of 
dusky attendant^ 
was ushered with 
all due solemnity 

to the gallery of that august chamber on 
an occasion when the speeches delivered, 
though important, were not models of 
oratorical power. With deep astonish- 
ment the black King looked down upon 
the group of elderly, somnolent gentlemen 
conducting the business of the Empire, 
and many were the ques- 
tions he put to the inter- 
preter on bended knee 
beside him. What form 
these questions took has 
been described ("with an 
effort of imagination ") by 
the special correspondent 
of a leading provincial 
paper. "Who," asked the 
King, lt is the little gentle- 
man in the wig so soundly 
asleep on the couch at the 
top of the room ? T ' Down 
wt-nt the interpreter's knee 
and up went the King's 
eyebrows as the information 
passed that the innocent 
slumberer in question was 
no other than the Lord 
Chancellor, " Then who 
can that be," asked the King, anxiously, 
"with his head hanging backwards over the 
back of the bench, with his mouth wide open, 




from a Photo, 

and his eyes so tightly closed ? " and it is said 
by this veracious chronicler that, when in- 
formed it was the Leader of the House of 
Lords, His Majesty wisely desisted from 
further inquiry. 

The same feature of our great city — and 
that, too, a feature which from its very 
familiarity fails to impress the Londoner in 
an equal degree, unless his attention is 
specially drawn to it— has appealed to famous 
representatives of two widely separated 
nations. In answer to the writer's query as 
to what in our capital had most impressed 
him, his Excellency Signor Joaquin Nabuco, 
the Brazilian Minister, most courteously 
replied, "The parks— their number and their 
size — inside the County of London," At 
the same time, Augusts Rodin, the eminent 
French sculptor, says that one of his most 
vivid impressions of a visit to London he 
paid some twelve years ago was of the parks 
and of their delicious solitude — t( where 
in a minute or two I > could isolate 
myself as completely from the rest of the 
world as if the city were a hundred miles 

If not the parks themselves, at least a 
certain aspect of them also seems to have 
appealed strongly to that keen observer 
and merciless , albeit kindly, critic of our 
country and countrymen (and women) — 
Max O'RdL ML Paul Blouet, to give him 
his rightful, though less familiar, name, writes 
in characteristic fashion : " The most admir- 

able sight to be seen m London is that of a 
popular meeting in Hyde Park. Not only 
are not the speakers interfered with, molested, 
much less arrested, but protected by the police. 
What a lesson in liberty to the French 

So far so good, and very flattering to our 
national vanity, but M. Blouet does not stop 
here, "The most objectionable institution 
in London/' he continues, ** is without doubt 
its four-wheeled cab — a survival of times at 
least as far distant as that of Nebuchadnezzar " 
—and a long suffering public who for genera 
dons has meekly and uncomplainingly borne 
the burden of the growler and its inartistic 
driver will feelingly echo the popular French- 
man's stricture. 

And how do our Yankee cousins regard 
us ? Their comments cannot fail to be of 
the very highest interest, for do they not 
profess that in their new civilization of the 
West, unhampered by the clinging bonds of 
precedent and tradition, they have, profiting 
by experience dearly purchased in older 
communities, built up mighty cities of their 
own which are models to all the world ? 
Praise from the Americans is praise indeed, 
and it was with much gratification that we 
read, in a contemporary, how London in 
Coronation year sLruck the Hon, Chauncey 
M, Depew, United States Senator from the 
State of New York, and a bearer of other 

From a. fho*. bf SUtott £ Prih 




honours too numerous to mention. Again 
it is Robert who comes in for the chief 
share of his admiration, " The London 
policeman is a marvel, compared with his 
comrades in France, 
Germany, Italy, or 
Russia, He is every- 
body's friend, he never 
loses his head or 
temper, he challenges 
admiration as a skilful 
tactician, us, without 
noise or fuss or parade, 
he bravely wins blood- 
less victories," 

Other nice things 
Mr. Depew has to say 
of us. One specially 
gracef u I compliment 
concerns our hospi- 
tality: "The attraction 
of London to the 
annual visitor is its 
cordial and charming 
hospitality. It is at the 
dinner -table and in 
the drawing-room that 
London becomes the 
capital of the Old 

World/' This from the representative of a 
nation so renownedly hospitable as is America, 

Professor Barnard, the eminent Trans- 
atlantic astronomer, discoverer of Jupiter's 
fifth satellite, and shining 
light of the Yerkes Obser- 
vatory — the greatest obser- 
vatory in the world— dis- 
cussed his opinions of 
London freely with the 

" I admire your city," he 
said, "but I cannot stand 
your antiquated open fire- 
places, I was in London 
in winter-time last, and I 
never was warm once. The 
only place whore 1 might 
have been warm t it seemed 
to me, was sitting astride of 
the chimney-pots, up which 
you allow all the warmth 
of your fires to escape/ 3 
Asked what pleased him 
most, the Professor at once 
replied: "Oh, the British 
bobby and the way he regulates the traffic. 
He is a model for alT nations, and especially 
for our New York policemen, who appear fit for 
no other function in life but to expectorate." 

we own 


Frum a Fhoto, 

th1| late (,km;kal lucab never. 
From a PAoto. 

And Sousa— presiding genius of brass 

bands, popular hero, the delight of nations — 

was he serious when he stated that the object 

in all London — nay, in all England — which 

most impressed him 

was the railway 

warmer? Alas! 

blushes may 

that this 

relic of antiquity, 
much as we treasure it 
for its historic value 
and * old associations, 
may, perchance, savour 
to the go-ahead Yankee 
- of a spirit of trustful 
conservatism carried, 
possibly, a thought 
too far ! 

" H *6ne opinion on 
London obtained by 
the writer has a certain 
melancholy interest of 
its own which enhances 
its value. First of the 
Boer generals to put 
our friendship to the 
test and come to Eng- 
land after the conclu- 
sion of the Peace was the late Lucas Meyer. 
He paid a fleeting visit to our capital and 
then crossed to the Continent, where, only a 
few days later, he suddenly breathed his last. 
When asked, during his 
brief sojourn in London, 
his opinion of that city, he 
replied thai his time had 
been so short and taken 
up with visitors that he had 
seen none of the u sights " 
of London. He had, how- 
ever, been "very favour- 
ably impressed," and his 
only stricture was that so 
much that was fine was 
allowed to be spoilt by 
soot and grime — factors 
unknown in the clear air 
of the veldt, 

One other of the Boer 
generals has furnished us 
—most courteously— with 
his opinions of our capital, 
and in so doing has placed 
yet another laurel on the 
now almost overweighted brows of Robert 
the Revered. General Ben. Viljoen's answer 
is here given in full : — 

11 MADAj©fttJjtt ^lefrtjrtp your query I may 




say that what impressed 
me most in London was 
the vast amount of traffic 
and the artful manner 
in which it was regu- 
lated. Beyond that the 
beautiful pictures along 
the streets struck me 
most — Yours, etc., 


U B, J. Viljoen, 
" General Boer Forces." 

The "beautiful pic- 
tures " were, of course, 
the advertisement 

Lastly, the expressions 
have been obtained of 


From a Photo, bp UUiott & Fry. 


From a Fftarf^ bv KllioU & Frit* 

certain of the most eminent of the Coronation 
guests — whose opinions are, perhaps* more 
important to us than those of any other 
visitors, and whom we should most desire to 
carry back a favourable impression of what 
they have seen — the Indian Princes. 

The Maharajah Scindia, ruler of Gwalior, 
while acknowledging that he had been struck 
by many things, refused to particularly. 

His Highness Chhat- 
rapati, Maharajah of 
Kolhapur, however, gra- 
ciously consented to be 
more explicit " The 
hospitality with which 
we have been received," 
he writes, "has most 
appealed to us. The 
rush of business, com- 
pared with European 
cities, has most im- 
pressed us. The police 
organization and their 
quiet control of traffic n 
(Robert again!) "have 
struck us greatly. The 
immensity of London 
and the greenness of 
the country have made all our preconceived 
ideas pale." 

This is pleasant reading, and gratifying 
withal, in days when it seems to have become 
the fashion to decry most things simply 
because they chance to be English, But 
undoubtedly the highest note of praise, not 
of the Indian Princes alone, but of all the 
foreign visitors whose criticisms are here 
cited, has been struck by that shrewd and 
popular potentate, Sir Pertab Singh : "What 
appeals to me most in London is the fact 
that the people of England all appear to 
have some definite object in life and do not 
merely exist, and so follow Manu's injunction, 
that a human being should be a ' man ? and 
not merely an 'animah'" 


Fwm u -PJketo. t» BT. A D. Itovn**. 


The Sorceress of the Strand. 

By L. T, Meade and Robert Eustace, 

N a certain bright spring morn- 
ing Violet Sale married Sir 
Juhn Bouverie, and si* months 
later, when autumn was fast 
developing into a somewhat 
rigorous winter, I received an 
invitation to spend a week or fortnight at 
their beautiful place. Grey lands, in the 
neighbourhood of Potter's Bar. Violet at 
the time of her marriage was only nineteen 
years of age. She and her brother Hubert 
were my special friends- The; were by 

of quite a large property were in a somewhat 
exceptional position. Hubert was remark- 
ably handsome, and Violet had the freshness 
and charm of a true English girl 

On the evening before my visit to Grey- 
lands Vandeleur came to see me, He looked 
restless and ill at ease. 

11 So you are going to spend a fortnight at 
the Bouveries* ? " he said, 

"Yes," I replied. "I look forward with 
great pleasure to the visit, Violet being such 
an old friend of mine." 


many years jny juniors, but their mother at 
her death hafl asked me to show them friend- 
ship and to advise them in any troubles 
that might arise in the circumstances of 
their lives. They were both charming young 
people, and having been left complete control 

44 "it is a curious fact,' 1 said Vandeleur, 
"that Bouverie is an old friend of mine. 
Did I mention to you that I spent a week 
with them both in Scotland two months ago? 
I had then the privilege of prescribing for 
Lady Bouverie," 

"Indeed !" I answered, in some amaze- 
ment. "I did not know that you gave your 
medical services except to your own division 
of police." 

He laughed gin a I from 




" My dear fellow, what is a doctor worth if 
he doesn't on all occasions and under every 
circumstance practise when required the 
healing art ? l^ady Bouverie was in a very 
low condition, her nerves out of order — in 
fact, I never saw anyone such a complete 
wreck. I prescribed some heroic measures 
with drugs, and I am given to understand 
that she is slightly better. I should like you 
to watch her, Druce, and give me your true 
opinion, quite frankly." 

There was something in his tone which 
caused me to look at him uneasily. 

"Are you keeping anything back?" I 

" Yes and no," was his answer. " I don't 
understand a healthy English girl being 
shattered by nerves, and " — he sprang to his 
feet as he spoke — "she is hand and glove 
with Madame Sara." 

" What ! " I cried. 

"She owns to the fact and glories in it 
Madame has cast her accustomed spell over 
her. I warned Lady Bouverie on no account 
to consult her medically, and she promised. 
But, there, how far is a woman's word, 
under given circumstances, to be depended 
upon ? " 

" Violet would certainly keep her word," 
I answered, in a tone almost of indignation. 

He shrugged his shoulders. 

41 Your friend Violet is human," he 
answered. " She is losing her looks ; she 
gets thinner and older-looking day by day. 
Under such circumstances any woman who 
holds the secrets Madame Sara does would 
compel another to be guided by her advice. 
At present Sir John has not the slightest idea 
that l.ady Bouverie consulted me, but if you 
have any reason to fear that Madame is 
treating her we must tell: him the truth at 
once. I have opened your eyes. You will, 
I am sure, do what is necessary." 

He left me a few minutes later, and I sat 
by the fire pondering over his words. 

Sir John Bouverie was a man of consider- 
able note. He was a great deal older than 
his young wife, and held a high position in 
the Foreign Office. 

I reached Greylands the next morning 
soon after breakfast, to find the country 
bathed in sunshine, the air both crisp and 
warm, and on the lawn the dew glistening 
like myriads of sparkling gems. 

Sir John gave me'a hearty welcome ; he 
told me that Violet fiad not yet come down- 
stairs, and then hurried me to my room to 
change and join the day's shooting-party. 

We had excellent sport and did not reach 

home again until five o'clock. Lady Bouverie 
and several guests were at tea in the library. 
Although Vandeleur had in a measure pre- 
pared me for a great change in her appear- 
ance, I was shocked and startled when I saw 
her. As a girl Violet Sale had been bright, 
upright, dark of eye, with a vivid colour and 
an offhand, dashing, joyous sort of manner. 
A perfect radiance of life seemed to emanate 
from her. To be in her presence was to be 
assured of a good time, so merry was her 
laugh, so contagious her high spirits. Now 
she looked old, almost haggard, her colour 
gone, her eyes tired, dull, and sunken. She 
was scarcely twenty yet, but had anyone 
spoken of her as a woman past thirty the 
remark would provoke no denial. 

Just for a moment as our eyes met hers 
brightened, and a vivid, beautiful colour filled 
her cheeks. 

" This is good ! " she cried. " I am so 
glad you have come ! It will be like old 
times to have a long talk with you, Dixon. 
Come over now to this cosy nook by the fire 
and let us begin at once." 

She crossed the room as she spoke, and I 
followed her. 

" All my guests have had tea, or if they 
have not they will help themselves," she 
continued. " Muriel," she added, addressing 
a pretty girl in a white tea-gown, who stood 
near, " help everyone, won't you ? I am so 
excited at seeing my old friend, Dixon Druce, 
again. Now then, Dixon, let us step back 
a few years into the sunny past. Don't you 
remember " 

She plunged into old recollections, and as 
she did so the animation in her sweet eyes 
and the colour in her cheeks removed a 
good deal of the painful impression which 
her first appearance had given me. We 
talked, Lady Bouverie laughed, and all went 
well until I suddenly made an inquiry with 
regard to Hubert. 

Now, Hubert had been the darling of 
Violet's early life. He was about three years 
her senior, and as fascinating and gay and 
light-hearted a young fellow as I had ever 
seen. Violet turned distinctly pale when I 
spoke of him now. She was silent for a few 
minutes, then she raised her eyes appealingly 
and said, in a clear, distinct voice : — 

" Hubert is quite well, I believe. Of 
course, you remember that he was obliged to 
go to Australia on business just before my 
marriage, but I hear from him constantly." 

" I should have thought he would have 
been back by now," was my answer. "What 
has he done with the bungalow?" 




" Let it to a very special friend. She goes 
there for week-ends. You must have heard 
of her— Madame Sara," 

u 0h, my dear Violet," I could not help 
saying, "why did Hubert let the place to her, 
of all people ? " 

w Why not ?" was her answer* She started 
up as she spoke, "I am very fond of 
Madame Sara, Dixon. But do you know her ? 
You look as though you did." 

" Too well," I replied 

Her lips pouted- 

11 1 see this is a subject on which we are 
not likely to agree," she answered, " I love 
Madame, and, for that matter, so does 
Hubert, I never met anyone who had such 
an influence over him. Sometimes I think 
that if she were a little younger and he a 
little older— but, there, of course, his devotion 
to her is not of that kind. She can do any- 
thing with him, however. He went to 
Australia entirely to please her. How strange 
you look! Have I said too much? But, 
there, I must not talk to 
you any more for the pre- 
sent The fascination of 
your company has made me 
forget my other duties." 

She left me, and I pre- 
sently found myself in my 
own room, where, seated 
by the fire, I thought over 
matters, I did not like 
the aspect of affairs. The 
Willows let to Madame 
Sara ; Hubert in Australia 
and evidently on Madame's 
business ; could Violet's all 
too manifest trouble have 
anything to do with 
Hubert? Her manner by 
no means deceived me ; she 
was concealing something. 
How ill she looked ; how 
changed ! Those forced 
spirits, that struggle to be 
animated, did not for a 
single moment blind me to 
the true fact that Violet was 

At dinner that evening 
I again noticed young I,ady 
Bouverie's tired and yet 
excited appearance. Once 
her dark eyes met mine, 
but she looked away im- 
mediately, She was in 
distress. What could be 
wrong ? 

Digitized by 

It was one of Sir John's peculiarities to sit 
up very late, and that night after the ladies 
had retired to rest we went into the billiard- 
room. After indulging in a couple of games 
I lit a fresh cigar, and, feeling the air of the 
room somewhat hot, stepped out on to the 
wide veranda, which happened to he deserted. 
I had taken one or two turns when I heard 
the rustle of a dress behind me, and, turning, 
saw Violet. She was wearing the long, 
straight, rather heavy, pearl-grey velvet dress 
which 1 had admired, and yet thought too old 
for her, earlier in the evening. She came up 
eagerly to my side. As I had bidden her 
good-night a long time ago, I could not help 
showing my astonishment 

"Don't look at me with those shocked, 
reproachful eyesj Dixon," she said ? in a low 
voice, "I am lucky to catch you like this, 
I want to speak to you about something/' 

" Certainly," I replied* i4 Shall we go over 
to those chairs, or will you feel it too cold ? " 

" Not at all Yes, let us go over there." 








I drew forward one of the chairs at the 
corner of the veranda, wondering greatly 
what was coming. 

Lady Bouverie looked up at me as I stood 
by her side, with some of the old, frank 
expression in her brown eyes. 

" Dixon," she said, " I want you to help 
me and not to question me ; whatever your 
private thoughts may be I want you to keep 
them to yourself. This is a most private 
and important matter, and I demand your 
help to get me through it satisfactorily." 

14 You have only to command," I replied. 

As I spoke I glanced at her anxiously. 
The moonlight had caught her face, and I 
saw how deadly white she was. Her lips 
quivered. Suddenly her eyes filled with 
tears. She took out a tiny lace handkerchief 
and wiped them away. In a moment she had 
recovered her self-control and continued : — 

"I am in great trouble just now, and the 
bitter part of it is that I can . confide it to no 
one. But ; I want you, as an old friend, to 
do a little business for me. I can't manage 
it myself, or I would not ask you. I have 
not told my. husband anything about it, nor 
dp I wish him to know. It is not my duty 
to tell him, for the affair is my own, not his. 
You understand ? " 

" No," I answered, boldly, " I cannot 
understand any circumstances in which a 
wife could, rightly have a trouble apart from 
her husband." 

"Oh, don't be so goody-goody, Dixon," she 
said, with some petulance. "If you won't 
help me without lecturing, you are much 
changed from the old Dixon Druce who 
used to give us such jolly times when he 
called, himself our dear old uncle at The 
Willows. S#y at once whether you will go 
right on with this thing, or whether I shall 
get someone else to do what I require." 

I thought of Madame, who would not 
scruple to do anything to get this girl into 
her power. 

44 Of course I will help you," I said. u We 
will leave out the goody part and go straight 
to business. What is it ? " 

44 Now you are nice and like your own old 
self," she replied. 44 Please listen attentively. 
I have in my private box some rupee coupon 
bonds, payable to bearer. These I in- 
herited among other securities at my mother's 
death. I want to realize them into cash 
immediately. I could not do so personally 
without my husband's knowledge, as I should 
have to correspond with, or go to see, the 
family broker in the City. Now, I want you 
to sell them for me at the best price. I know 

Vo...xv.- 29 . 

the price is low owing to the fall in silver, 
but as they are bearer bonds there will be no 
transfer deeds to sign, and you can take them 
to your broker and get the money at once. 
Can you do this for me to-morrow ? I hate 
asking you, but if you would do it I should 
be so grateful. The fact is, I must somehow 
have the money before to-morrow night." 

44 1 will certainly do it," I replied. " I 
can run up to town to-morrow morning oji 
the plea of urgent business, which will be 
quite true, and bring you back the money 
to-morrow afternoon." 

Her words had filled me with apprehen- 
sion, but it was quite impossible, after what 
she had just said, to attempt to gain her con- 
fidence as to the cause of her wish for a 
sudden supply of cash unknown to her 
husband. Could she want the money for 
Hubert ? But he was in Australia. 

44 Is the amount a large one ? " I asked. 

44 Not very," she-answered. 44 1 think the 
bonds should realize, at the present price, 
about two thousand six hundred pounds." 

44 Indeed ! " I exclaimed. 44 That appears 
to me a large sum." 

The amount doubled my anxiety. A 
sudden impulse seized me. 

44 We are old friends, Violet," I said, laying 
my hand on her arm. <4 You and Hubert and I 
once swore eternal friendship. Now, because 
of that old friendship, I will do what you 
ask, though I don't like to do it, and I would 
rather your husband knew about it. Since 
this is not to be, I mean to put to you another 
question, and I demand, Violet — yes, I 
demand — a frank answer." 

44 What is it ? " she asked. 

44 Has Madame Sara anything, directly or 
indirectly, to do with this affair ? '' 

She glanced at me in astonishment. 

44 Madame Sara ? Absolutely nothing ! 
Why should she ? " 

44 Have you consulted her about it ? " 

44 Well, yes, I have, of course. She is, 
you see, my very kindest friend." 

44 And you are doing this by her advice ? " 

44 She did counsel me. She said it would 
be the only way out/' 

I was silent. My consternation was too 
great for me to put into words. 

44 Violet," I said, after a pause, 44 1 am 
sorry that Madame has got possession of 
your dear old home ; I am sorry you are 
friends with her ; I am more than sorry you 
consult her, for I do not like her." 

44 Then you are in the minority, Dixon. 
All people praise Madame Sara. She makes 
friends wherever she goes." 




li Ah," I answered, '* except with the few 
who know her as she is. Ask Vandeleur 
what he thinks of her" 

"I admire Mr. Vandeleur very much," 
said Violet, speaking slowly. ( Tie is a 
clever and interesting man, but ^erc he to 
abuse Madame I should hate him, I could 
even hate you, Dixon, when you speak as 
you are now doing. It is, of course, because 
you know Mr. Vandeleur so well. He is a 
police official, a sort of detective— such 
people look on all the world with jaundiced 
eyes. He would be sure to suspect any very 
clever woman." 

"Vandeleur has lold me," I said, after a 
pause, " that you 
respect and trust 
him sufficiently 
to consult hirn 
about your 
health. 11 

"Yes," she 
answered. "I 
have not been 
feeling well, I 
happened to be 
alone with him 
on one occasion, 
and it seemed a 
chance not to be 
thrown away. 
He did look so 
clever and so- 
so trustworthy. 
He is giving me 
some medicines 
— I think I am 
rather better 
since I took 

Sh e gave a 
deep sigh and 
rose to her feet 



she said, 
no idea 
so late, 
must go 
John sits up 

IV e 

in , 

all hours. Good- 

night and a 

thousand thanks, I will put the parcel of 

bonds in your room to-morrow morning, in 

the top left-hand drawer of the chest. You 

will know where to find them before you go 

to town." 

She pressed my hand, and I noticed that 
there were tears brimming in her eyes. Her 
whole attitude puzzled me terribly. It was 

Digitized by V^tI 

so unlike the ways of the Violet I used to 
know- Fearless, bold, daring was that girl. 
I used to wonder at times could she ever 
cry; could she ever feel keen anxiety about 
anyone ? Now, only six months after 
marriage, I found a nervous, almost hypo- 
ehondriacal, woman instead of the Violet 
Sale of old. 

I thought much of Lady Bouverie*s request 
during the hours of darkness ; and in the 
morning, notwithstanding the fact that in 
some ways it might be considered a breach 
of confidence, I resolved to tell Vandeleur. 
Vandeleur would keep the knowledge to 
himself ; unless, indeed, it was for I-ady 

Bo u verier bone- 
fit that he should 
disclose it, I 
felt certain that 
she was in grave 
danger of some 
sort, and, know- 
ing Madame 
Sara as I did, my 
flew to her as the 
probable cause of 
the trouble. 

After breakfast 
I made an excuse 
and went up to 
town, taking the 
bonds with me. 

Just as I was 
entering my 
broker's I ob- 
served a man 
leaning against 
the railings. He 
was dressed like 
an ordinary 
tramp, and had 
a slouch hat 
pushed over his 
e y e s , Those 
eyes, very bright 
and watchful, 
seemed to haunt 
me. I did not 
think they looked 
like the eyes of 
an Englishman -they were too brilliant, and 
also too secretive. 

My broker gave me an open cheque for 
two thousand six hundred and forty pounds 
for the bonds. This 1 at once took to his 
bank and cashed in notes. As I was leaving 
the bank I observed the same man whom I 
had seen standing outside the broker's office. 






He did not look at - me this time, but 
sauntered slowly by. I was conscious of a 
curious, irritated feeling, and had some diffi- 
culty in banishing him from my mind. That 
he was following me I had little doubt, and 
this fact redoubled my uneasiness. 

I got into a cab and drove to Vandeleur's 
house; when I arrived there was no sign 
of the man, and, blaming myself for being 
over-suspicious, I inquired for my friend. 
He was out, but I was lucky enough to 
catch him just outside the Court He was 
very busy, and could only give me a moment. 
I told him my news briefly. His face grew 

" Bad," was his laconic remark. " I told 
you I feared there was something going on. 
I wonder what Lady Bouverie is up to ? " 

" Nothing dishonourable," I replied, hotly. 
" Do you think, Vandeleur, she wants the 
money for her brother ? " 

" Hubert Sale has plenty of money of his 
own," was Vandeleur's retort. " Besides, 
you say he is in Australia — gone on Madame 
Sara's business. I don't like it, Druce. 
Believe me, Sara is at the bottom of this. 
You must watch for all you are worth. You 
must act the detective. Never mind whether 
you like the part or not. It is for the sake 
of that poor girl. She has, beyond doubt, 
put herself in the clutches of the most 
dangerous woman in London." 

Vandeleur's remarks were certainly not 
encouraging. I returned to Greylands in low 
spirits. Lady Bouverie was waiting for me 
on the lawn ; the rest of the party were out. 
She looked tired ; the ravages of some secret 
grief were more than ever manifest on her 
face. But when I handed her the parcel of 
notes she gave me a look of gratitude, and 
without speaking hurried to her own apart- 

I was just preparing to saunter through the 
grounds, feeling too restless to go within, 
when a light hand was laid on my arm. 
Lady Bouverie had returned. 

" I could not wait, Dixon," she cried. " I 
had to thank you at once. You are good, 
and you have done .better than I dared to 
hope. Now I shall be quite, quite happy. 
This must put everything absolutely right. 
Oh, the relief ! I was not meant for anxiety ; 
I believe much of it would kill me." 

" I am inclined to agree with you," I 
answered, looking at her face as I spoke. 

" Ah," she answered, " you think me 
greatly changed ? " 

"I do." 

"You will soon see the happy Violet of 

Digitized by GoO^Ic 

old. You have saved me. You are going 
for a walk. May I accompany you ? " 

I assured her what pleasure it would give 
me, and we went together through the 
beautiful gardens. Her whole manner only 
strengthened my anxiety. Madame Sara her 
great and trusted friend; a large sum of 
money required immediately which her hus- 
band was to know nothing about ; Hubert 
Sale at the other side of the world, engaged 
on Madame Sara's business ; Madame in 
possession of the Sales' old home. Things 
looked black. 

Sir John had asked me to remain at 
Greylands for a fortnight, and I resolved for 
Violet's sake to take full advantage of the 

Our party was a gay one, and perhaps 
I was the only person who really noticed 
Violet's depression. 

Meantime there was great excitement, for 
a large house-party was expected to arrive, 
the chief guest being a certain Persian, Mr. 
Mirza Ali Khan, one of the Shah's favourite 
courtiers and most trusted emissaries. This 
great personage had come to England to 
prepare for his Royal master's visit to this 
country, the date of which was as yet un- 
certain. Sir John Bouverie, by virtue of his 
official position at the Foreign Office, had 
offered to entertain him for a few days' 

" I do not envy Ali Khan his billet," 
remarked Sir John to me on the evening 
before the arrival of our honoured guest. 
" The Shah is a particular monarch, and if 
everything is not in apple-pie order on his 
arrival there is certain to be big trouble for 
someone. In fact, if the smallest thing 
goes wrong Mirza Ali Khan is likely to lose 
his head when he returns to Persia. My 
guest of to-morrow has a very important 
commission to execute before the Shah's 
arrival. Amongst some valuable gems and 
stones which he is bringing to have cut and 
set for his monarch is, in especial, the 

"What?" I asked. 

" The bloodstone. The bloodstone, which 
has never before left Persia. It is the Shah's 
favourite talisman, and is supposed, among 
other miraculous properties, to possess the 
power of rendering the Royal owner invisible 
at will. Awful thing if he were suddenly 
to disappear at one of the big Court func- 
tions. But, to be serious, the stone is 
intensely interesting for its great age and 
history, having been the most treasured 
possession of the Persian Court for untold 

_- 1 l '_| 1 1 l >.l l \\\ 


20 4 


centuries. Though I believe it is intrinsically 
worth very little, its sentimental value is 
enormous. Were it lost a huge reward would 
be offered for it. It has never been set, but 
is to be so now for the first time, and is to be 
ready for the Shah 
to wear on his 
arrival* It will be 
a great honour to 
handleand examine 
a stone with such a 
history, and Violet 
has asked the Per- 
sian to bring it 
down here as a 
special favour, in 
order that we may 
all see it." 

" It will be most 
interesting," I re- 
plied. Then I 
added, " Surely 
there must be an 
element of risk in 
the way these 
Eastern potentates 
bring their price- 
less stones and 
jewels with them 
when they visit our 
Western cities, the 
foci of all the great 
professional thieves 
of the world ? " 

" Very little," he 
replied. " Th e 
Home Office is 
always specially 
notified, and they 
pass the word to 
Scotland Yard; so 
that every* precau- 
tion is taken." 

He rose as he 
spoke, and we both joined the other men in 
the billiard-room. 

On the following day the new guests 
arrived. They had come by special train, 
and in time for tea, which was served in the 
central hall. Among them, of course, was 
the Persian, Mirza Ali Khan, He was a 
fine-looking man, handsome, with lustrous 
dark eyes and clear-cut, high-bred features. 
His manners were extremely polite, and he 
abundantly possessed all an Eastern's grace 
and charm, I had been exchanging a few 
words with him, and was turning away when, 
to my absolute surprise and consternation, I 
found myself face to face with Madame Sara, 


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She was standing close behind me, stirring 
her tea. She still wore her hat and cloak, as 
did atl the other ladies who had just arrived, 
"Ah, Mr. Druce," she cried, a brilliant 
smile lighting up her face and displaying her 

dazzling w t h i t e 
teeth, "so we meet 
again. Dear me, 
you look surprised 
and — scarcely 
pleased to see me." 
She dropped her 

" You have no 
cause to be alarm- 
ed," she continued, 
u Iam not a ghost," 
"I did not know 
you were to be 
one of Sir John's 
guest's to-night," I 

" In your opinion 
I ought not to be, 
ought I ? But, you 
see, dear Lady 
Bouverie is my 
special friend. In 
spite of many pro- 
fessional engage- 
ments I determined 
to give her the 
pleasure of my 
society to-night I 
wanted to spend a 
short time with her 
in her beautiful 
home, and still 
more I wished to 
meet once again 
that fascinating 
Persian! Mr. Khan. 
You won't believe 
me, I know, Mr, 
Druce, when I tell you that I knew him well 
as a boy. I was at Teheran for a time many 
years ago, and I was a special friend of the 
late Shah's." 

IC You knew the late Shah ! " I exclaimed, 
staring at her in undisguised amazement. 

" Yes ; I spent nearly a year in Persia, and 
can talk the language quite fluently. Ah ! " 
She turned away and addressed her- 
self, evidently in his own language, to the 
Persian, A pleased and delighted smile 
spread over his dark Oriental features. He 
extended his hand to her, and the next 
moment they were exchanging a rapid con- 
versation, much to the surprise of all. Lady 
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Bouverie looked on at this scene. Her eyes 
were bright with excitement. I noticed that 
she kept gazing at Madame Sara as though 
fascinated. Presently she turned to me, 

"Is she not wonderful ?" she exclaimed. 
u Think of her adding Persian to her many 
accomplishments, She is so wonderfully 
brilliant — she makes everything go well. 
There certainly is no one like her/' 

"No one more dangerous," 1 could not 
help whispering* 

Violet shrugged her pretty shoulders. 

"There never was an>one more obstinate 
and prejudiced than you can be when you 
like, Dixon," she answered, " Ah 3 there is 

But I was destined to be quickly un- 
deceived. About an hour later I was 
standing in one of the corridors when Violet 
Bouverie ran past me. She pulled herself 
up the next instant and, turning, came up to 
me on tip-toe. Her face was so changed 
that I should scarcely have recognised it, 

" The worst has happened," she said, in a 

11 What do you mean ? " I asked, 
"Hubert — I did think I could save him. 
Oh, I am nearly mad." 

" Madame has brought you bad tidings ? JJ 

"The worst. What am I to do ? I must 

keep up appearances to-night. Don't take 


Madame calling me. She and I mean to have 
a cosy hour in my boudoir before dinner," 

She flew from my side, and as I stood in" 
the hall I saw the young hostess and Madame 
Sara going slowly up the wide stairs side by 
side. I thought how well Violet looked, and 
began to hope that her trouble was at an end 
— that the money I had brought her had 
done what she hoped it would, and that 
Madame for the time was innocuous. 

Digitized by GOOQ I C 

any notice of me; I will tell you to-morrow. 
But Heaven help me ! Heaven help me ! " 
she sobbed. 

I watched her as she walked quickly down 
the corridor, Her handkerchief was pressed 
to her face; tears were streaming from her 
eyes. Hatred even stronger than I had ever 
before experienced filled me with regard to 
Madame Sara, My first impulse was to 
beard the lioness in her den, to demand an 




interview with the woman, tell her all my 
suspicions, and dare her to torture Violet 
Bouverie any further. But reflection showed 
me the absurdity of this plan. I must wait 
and watch ; ah, yes, I would watch, even as 
a detective, and would not leave a stone 
unturned to pursue this terrible woman until 
her wicked machinations were laid bare. 

It was with a sinking heart that I dressed 
for dinner, but by-and-by, when I found 
myself at the long table, with its brilliant 
decorations and its distinguished guests, and 
glanced round the glittering board, I almost 
wondered if all that I had felt and all that 
Violet Bouverie's face had expressed were 
not parts of a hideous dream ; for the party 
was so gay, the conversation so full of wit 
and laughter, that surely no horrible tragedy 
could be lingering in the background. 

But as these thoughts came to me I looked 
again at Violet. At tea-time that evening I 
had noticed her improved appearance, but 
now she looked ghastly ; her cheeks were 
hollow, her eyes sunken, her complexion a 
dull, dead white. Her evening dress revealed 
hollows in her neck. But it was the tired 
look, the suppressed anguish on her face, 
which filled me with apprehension. I could 
see how bravely she tried to be bright and 
gay. I also noticed that her eyes avoided 

Mirza AH Khan sat on the right of Lady 
Bouverie — on his other side sat Madame 
Sara, and I occupied a chair next to hers. 
Between Madame and our hostess appeared 
to-night a most marked and painful contrast. 
Violet Bouverie was not twenty. Madame 
Sara, by her own showing, was an old woman, 
and yet at that moment the old looked 
young and the young old. Madame's face was 
brilliant, not a wrinkle was to be observed ; 
her make-up was so perfect that it could not 
be detected even by the closest observer. 
Her tout ensemble gave her the appearance of 
a woman who could not be a day more than 
five-and-twenty. Many a man would have 
fallen a victim to her wit and brilliancy ; but 
I at least was saved that— I knew her too 
well. I hated her for that beauty, which 
effected such havoc in the world. 

It was easy to see that Ali Khan was 
fascinated by her ; but at table she had the 
good taste to address him in English. Now 
and then I noticed that she looked earnestly 
at our hostess. After one of these glances 
she turned to me and said, in a low 
voice : — 

" How ill Lady Bouverie is looking ! 
Don't you think so ? " 

Digitized by Google 

" Yes," I replied, " she is. I feel anxious 
about her." 

" I wish she would consult me," she replied. 
" I could do her good. But she will not. 
She is under the impression, Mr. Druce, 
that I am a quack because I do not hold 
diplomas — a curious delusion I find among 

" But a sound one," I answered. 

She laughed, and turned again to her other 

When we joined the ladies after dinner 
Lady Bouverie crossed over to the Persian 
and said something to him. 

"Certainly," he answered, and immediately 
left the room, returning in a few minutes 
with a despatch-box. We all clustered about 
him as he placed it on the table and opened 
it. A little murmur of surprise ran round 
the group when he lifted the lid and displayed 
the contents. A mass of gorgeous gems 
was lying in a bed of white wool. It was a 
blaze of all the colours of the rainbow. 
Emeralds, sapphires, diamonds, rubies, pearls, 
topazes, cats'-eyes, amethysts, and many 
others whose names I did not know were 
to be found there. One by one he removed 
them and passed each round for inspection. 
As he did so he gave a short description of its 
virtues, its origin, and value, and then 
returned it to the box again. Truly the 
display was wonderful. Madame Sara lingered 
long and lovingly over some of the gems, 
declaring that she had seen one or two 
before, mentioning certain anecdotes about 
them to the Persian, who nodded and smiled 
as he replaced, with his pointed fingers, each 
in its receptacle. He was evidently much 
pleased with the admiration they excited. 

" But surely, Mr. Khan, you have brought 
the bloodstone to show us?" questioned 
Lady Bouverie. 

" Ah, yes. I kept that supreme treasure 
for the last." 

As he spoke he pushed a spring in the box, 
and a secret triangular drawer came slowly 
out. In it, nestling in a bed of red velvet, lay 
a wonderful stone— a perfectly oval piece of 
moss-green chalcedony with translucent edges. 
Here and there in irregular pattern shone out 
in vivid contrast to the dark green a number 
of blood-red spots, from which the stone 
derived its name. 

4< Yes," he said, lifting it out with reverence 
and laying it on the palm of his hand, " this 
is the bloodstone. Look closely at it if you 
will, but I must ask none of you to touch it." 

One after another we bent down and peered 
into its luminous green depths, and doubtless 





shared some of the fascination that its pos- 
sessor must feel for it The stone was 
wonderful, and yet it was repellent. It 
seemed to me that there was something 
sinister in those blood -red spots. The thing 
inspired me with the same feeling that I 
often have when regarding some monstrous 
spotted orchid. 

11 Yes," said I^ady Bouverie, " it is wonder- 
ful. Tell us something of its history, Mr. 

4t I cannot," he answered, " for the simple 
reason that no one knows Its origin nor when 
it came into the possession of our Court. I 
could tell of- some of its properties, but the 
tales would fall unbecomingly on the ears of 
Western civilization/' 

He replaced the stone in its drawer and, in 
spite of our pleading, declined to discuss it 

It was late that night before I retired to 
rest. I was sitting with my host in the 
smoking-room, and we walked together down 
the corridor which led to my room. Most 
of the lights in the house were already out, 
and I fancied as I chatted to Bouverie that I 
heard a door close softly just ahead of us. 
The next instant, glancing down, I saw on 
the dark carpet a piece of paper, open, and 

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bearing traces of having been folded. It was 
obviously a note. 

" Halloa ! " cried Bouverie, " What is 

He stooped and picked it up. At a glance 
we both read its contents; they ran as 
follows : — 

"Bring it to the summer-house exactly at 
half-past twelve ; but make certain Jirsi that 
Dixon Druce has retired. Don't come until 
he has? 

Bouverie's eyes met mine. I could not 
tell what thought flashed into their bmwn 
depths ; but the rosy hue suddenly left his 
face, leaving it deadly white, 

"Do you understand this?" he said, 
addressing me briefly. 

M Yes and no," I replied. 

" For whom was this note intended?" was 
his next remark. 

I was silent 

" Druce," said Bouverie, " are you hiding 
anything from me ?" 

" If I were you," 1 said, after a moment's 
quick thought, u I would attend that rendez- 
vous. It is now five and -twenty minutes 
past twelve " — I glanced at my watch as I 
spoke — ** shatl we go together ? " 

He nodded. I rushed to my room, put 
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on a dark shooting-coat, and joined my host 
a moment later in the hall 

We slipped out through a side door which 
stood slightly open. Without a word we 
crept softly in the shadow of the bushes 
towards the summer-house at the farther end 
of the garden , which was clearly visible in 
the moonlight. Whatever thoughts were 
coursing through Bou verie's brain there was 
something about his attitude, a certain force- 
ful determination, which kept him from any 
words, We both drew into the dark cover 
of the laurels and waited with what patience 
we could. 

A moment had scarcely gone by when 
across the grass with a light, quick step came 
a woman. She was wrapped in a dark cloak, 
For one instant the moonlight fell on her 

forward, seize the man, and demand an 
explanation ; but whether he was stunned or 
not I could not say. Before, however, he 
made the slightest movement Lady Bouverie 
herself with incredible swiftness disappeared 
into the darkness. 

" Come/' 1 said to Bouverie, 

We both rushed to the spot where his 
wife had stood — something white lay on the 
ground, I picked it up. It was her hand- 
kerchief, Bouverie snatched it from me and 
looked at the initials by the light of the 
moon. The handkerchief was sopping wet 
with her tears. He flung it down again as 
though it hurt him, 

lt Great heavens ! >! he muttered* 

I picked up the handkerchief and we both 
returned to the house, 


face and my heart nearly stopped with horror. 
It was that of Lady Bouverie. At that in- 
stant Bouverie's hand clutched my shoulder, 
and he drew me farther back into the darkest 
part of the shadow. From where we stood 
we could see but not be seen. Lady 
Bouverie was holding a smLill box in one 
hand, in the other a handkerchief. Her 
eyes were streaming with tears. She had 
scarcely reached the summer-house before a 
man with a mask over his face approached 
her. He said a word or two in a whisper, 
which was only broken by Lady Bouverie's 
sobs. She gave him the box ; he put it into 
his breast-pocket and vanished. 

I wondered that Bouverie did not spring 


We had scarcely set foot inside the hall 
when the sound of many voices upstairs fell 
on our ears. Amongst them the Persian's 
accents were clearly distinguishable, Terror 
rang in every shrill word, 

"The bloodstone is gone! — the other 
jewels are safe, but the bloodstone, the 
talisman, is gone ! What will become of me ? 
My life will be the forfeit/' 

We both rushed upstairs. The whole 
thing was perfectly true. The bloodstone, the 
priceless talisman of the Royal House of 
Persia, had been stolen. The confusion was 
appalling, and already someone had gone to 
fetch the local police. 

" I shall lose my life if the stone is not 




recovered," cried the miserable Persian, 
despair and terror depicted on his face. 
" Who has taken it? The other gems are 
safe, but the secret drawer has been burst 
open and the bloodstone removed. Who 
has taken it? Sir John, what is the matter ? 
-You look strange." 

" I can throw light on this mystery," said 
Sir John. 
- 1 looked around me. Neither Lady 
Bouverie nor Madame Sara was present. I 
felt a momentary thankfulness for this latter 

" I saw my wife give a package to a 
stranger in the garden just now," he con- 
tinued. " I do not wish to conceal anything. 
This matter must be looked into. When the 
police come I shall be the first to help in the 
investigation. Meanwhile I am going to my 

He strode away. We all stood and looked 
at each other. Sir John's revelation was far 
more terrible to all except the unfortunate 
Persian than the loss of the bloodstone. 
In fact, the enormity of the one tragedy 
paled beside the other. 

I thought for a minute. Notwithstanding 
the lateness of the hour, I would dispatch a 
telegram to Vandeleur without delay. There 
was a mystery, and only Vandeleur could 
clear it up. Black as appearances were 
against Lady Bouverie, I had no doubt that 
her innocence could be established. With- 
out a word I hurried out and raced to the 
post-office. There I knocked up the post- 
master and soon dispatched three telegrams 
— one to Vandeleur's house, one to his club, 
and one to the care of the Westminster 
police - station. All contained the same 
words : — 

- " Come special or motor immediately. 
Don't delay. " 

I then returned to Greylands. A hush of 
surprise had succeeded to the first conster- 
nation. A few of the guests had reappeared, 
startled by the noise and confusion, but 
many still remained in their rooms. Sir John 
was with his wife. We assembled in the 
dining-room, and presently he came down 
and spoke to us. 

" Lady Bouverie denies everything," he 
said. " She swears she has never left her 
room. This matter must be thoroughly in- 
vestigated," he continued, going up to the 
Persian. " There are times when a man in 
all honour cannot defend even his own wife." 

Meanwhile Madame Sara remained in the 
library. She was sitting by a table busily 
writing. When Sir John appeared she came 

Vol xxv._27. 

into the room and spoke to him. Her face 
was full of sympathy. 

" Of course Violet is innocent," she said. 
" I cannot understand your story, Sir John." 

He did not reply to her. She then offered 
to go up to Violet ; but he peremptorily for- 
bade her to do so. 

On the arrival of the local police a formal 
inquiry was made. Mirza Ali Khan declared 
that after showing us the gems he returned 
the box to his room. On retiring for the 
night he observed that it had been moved 
from the position in which he had placed it. 
He examined it and found that the lock had 
been tampered with — had, indeed, been ruth- 
lessly burst open, evidently with a blunt 
instrument. He then touched the spring 
which revealed the secret drawer — the blood : 
stone was gone. All the other gems were 
intact. Knowing that the secret of the 
drawer was a difficult one to discover, the 
Persian was convinced that the bloodstone 
had been stolen by one of the party who 
assembled round him that evening and who 
had seen him touch the spring. 

" My host, Sir John Bouverie, tells me an 
incredible story," he said. " I will leave the 
matter in Sir John's hands, trusting absolutely 
to his honour." 

In a few words Sir John described what he 
had seen. He handed the note which we 
had found in the corridor to the police, who 
examined it with interest. Lady Bouverie 
was sent for, and pending further investiga- 
tion the unfortunate girl was placed under 

Half-past one struck, then two, and it was 
only our earnest appeal to await Vandeleur's 
arrival that prevented the police from remov- 
ing Lady Bouverie in custody. Would he 
never come? If he had started at once on 
receipt of the wire he would be nearly at 
Greylands now. 

Suddenly I heard a sound and ran breath- 
lessly to the front door, which was open. 
Stepping from a motor-car, hatless but with 
the utmost calm, was Vandeleur. I seized 
his hand. 

" Thank Heaven you are here ! " I ex- 
claimed. " You must have raced." 

" Yes, I shall be summoned to-morrow for 
fast driving, and I have lost my hat. What's 

I hurried him into the dining-room, where 
a crowd of guests was assembled. It was a 
wonderful scene, and I shall never forget it. 
The anxious faces of the visitors ; Lady 
Bouverie standing between two constables, 
sobbing bitterly; her husband just behind 




her, his head turned with shame and misery ; 
and then, as though in contrast, the tall, 
commanding figure of Vandeleur, with his 
strong features set as though in marble. 
He was taking in everything, judging in his 
acute mind the evidence which was poured 
oat to him. 

"Have you anything to say?" asked 
•Vandeleur, gently, to Lady Boo verm **Any 
explanation to offer?" 

C£ I was not therty' was her answer. l * I 
never left my room* n 

Sir John muttered something under his 
breath ; then he turned brusquely and re- 
quested the visitors to U.avc tin.: room. They 
did so without a word, even Madame Sara 
taking herself off, though I could see that 
she went unwillingly. Sir John, Vandeleur, 
myself, the Persian, the two constables, and 
Lady Bouverie were now alone. 

Vandeleur's expression suddenly changed. 
He w r as regarding Lady Bouverie 
with a steady look ; he then took 
up the handkerchief which we had 
found, examined it carefully, and 
laid it down again, 

" Have you been taking the 
medicine I ordered you, I-ady 
Bouverie ? " was his remark. 

" I have/' she replied. 


" Yes ; three times." 

"Will someone give me a large, 
clean sheet of white paper?" 

I found one at 
once and brought 
it to him* He 
carefully rolled 
the handkerchief 
in it, drew out his 
stylograph, and 
wrote on the pack- 
age :— 

* l Ha n d kerchief 
found by Sir John 
Bouverie and Air. 
Druce at 12.40 

He then asked 
Lady Bouverie f w 
the one which she 
had in her pocket ; 
this was almost as 
wet as the one I 
had picked up. 
He put it in 
another packet, 
writing also upon 
the paper : — 

" Handkerchief given to me by Lady Bouverk 
at j.20 a.m." 

Then, drawing the inspector aside, he 
whispered a few words to him which brought 
an exclamation of surprise from that officer. 

" Now," he said, turning to Sir John, tk 1 
have done my business here for the present. 
I mean to return to I^ondon at once in my 
motorcar, and I shall take Mr. Druce with 
me. The inspector here has given me leave 
to take also these two handkerchiefs, on 
which I trust important evidence may hang." 

He drew out his watch. 

" It is now nearly half-past, three/' he said. 
"I shall reach my house at 4*30; the 
examination will take fifteen minutes ; the 
result will be dispatched from Westminster 
pol ice-station to the station here by telegram. 
You should receive it, Sir John, by 5.30, and 
I trust, 51 he added, taking Lady Bouverie's 
hand, "it will mean your release^ for that you 

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are guilty Ldo not for a moment believe. In 
the -meantime the police will remain here." 

He caught • my arm, and two minutes later 
we were rushing through the night towards 

" My dear fellow," I gasped, " explain your- 
self, for Heaven's sake. Is Violet innocent ? " 

"Wonderful luck," was his enigmatical 
answer. " I fancy Sara has over-acted this 

" You can find the bloodstone ? " 

" That I cannot tell you ; my business is 
to clear Lady Bouverie. Don't talk, or we 
shall be wrecked." 

He. did not vouchsafe another remark till 
we stood together in his room, but he had 
driven the car like a madman. 

He then drew out the two packets contain- 
ing the handkerchiefs and began to make 
rapid chemical preparations. 

"-Now, listen," he said. " You know I am 
treating Lady Bouverie. The medicine I 
have been giving her happens to contain large 
doses of iodide of potassium. You may not 
be aware of it, but the drug is eliminated very 
largely by all the mucous membranes, and the 
lachrymal gland, which secretes the tears, 
plays a prominent part in this process. The 
sobbing female whom you are prepared to 
swear on oath was Lady Bouverie at the 
rendezvous by the summer-house dropped a 
handkerchief — this one." He laid his finger 
on the first of the two packets. "Now, if 
that woman was really Lady Bouverie, by 
analysis of the handkerchief I shall find, by 
means of a delicate test, distinct traces of 
iodine on it If, however, it was not Lady 
Bouverie, but someone disguised with the 
utmost skill of an actress to represent her, not 
only physically, but with all the emotions of a 
distracted and guilty woman, even to the sobs 
and tears — then we shall not find iodine on 
the analysis of this handkerchief." 

My jaw dropped as the meaning of his 
words broke upon me. 

" Before testing, I will complete my little 
hypothesis by suggesting that the note, 
evidently thrown in your way, was to decoy 
you to be a witness of the scene, and that 
the handkerchief taken from Lady Bouverie's 
room and marked with her initials was 
intended to be the finishing touch in the 
chain of evidence against her. Now we will 
come to facts, -and for all our sakes let us 
hope that my little theory is correct." 

He set to work rapidly. At the end of 
some operations lasting several minutes he 
held up a test tube containing a clear 

by L^OOgle 

"Now," he said, opening a bottle con- 
taining an opalescent liquid ; " guilty or not 
guilty ? " 

He added a few drops from the bottle to 
the test tube. A long, deep chuckle came 
from his broad chest. 

" Not a trace of it," he said. " Now for 
the handkerchief which I took from Lady 
Bouverie for a check experiment." 

He added a few of the same drops to 
another tube. A bright violet colour spread 
through the liquid. 

"There's iodine in that, you see. Not 
guilty, Druce." 

A shout burst from my lips. 

"Hush, my dear chap!" he pleaded. 
"Yes, it is very pretty. I am quite proud." 

Five minutes later a joyful telegram was 
speeding on its way to Greylands. 

"So it was Sara," I said, by-and-by. 
" What is your next move ? " 

He shrugged his shoulders. 

" It is one thing to prove that a person is 
not guilty, but it is another thing to prove 
that someone else is. Of course, I will try. 
This is the deepest game I ever struck, and 
the boldest, and I think the cleverest. Poor 
Ali Khan, the Shah will certainly cut his 
head off when he gets back to Persia. Of 
course, Sara has taken the stone. But 
whether she has done so simply because she 
has a fancy to keep it for herself, believing in 
its power as a talisman, or for the reward 
which is certain to be offered, who can tell? 
The reward will be a large one, but she 
doesn't want money. However, we shall see. 
Her make-up was good, and she had all her 
details well worked out." 

" But we have not yet found out what 
Violet's trouble is," I remarked. " There is, 
I am sure, some mystery attached to 

"I doubt it," said Vandeleur, brusquely. 

He rose and yawned. 

" I am tired and must lie down," he said. 
"You will, of course, return to Greylands 
later in the morning. Let me know if there 
are any fresh moves." 

By noon that day I found myself back at 
Greylands. Surely this was a day of wonders, 
for whom should I see standing on the steps 
of the old house, talking earnestly to Sir 
John Bouverie, but my old friend, Hubert 
Sale. In appearance he was older than when 
I had last seen him, and his face was 
bronzed. He did not notice me, but went 
quickly into the house. Sir John came down 
the avenue to meet me. 

"Ah, Druce." . he said, "who would have 




believed it ? Of all the amazing things, 
your friend Vandeleur's penetration is the 
greatest. We both saw her with our own eyes, 
and yet it wasn't my wife. Come into my 
study, " he continued ; " I believe I can 
throw light on this most extraordinary affair. 
Hubert's unlooked-for return puts the whole 
thing into a nutshell. I have a strange tale 
to tell you." 

" First, may I ask one question ? " I in- 
terrupted. " Where is Madame Sara ? " 

He spread out his hands with a significant 

" Gone," he said. " How, when, and where 

I do not know. We thought she had retired 
for the night She did not appear this morn- 
ing. She has vanished, leaving no address 
behind her." 

" Just like her," I could not help saying. 

II Now I will listen to your story." 

" I will try to put it in as few words as 
possible. It is a deep thing, and discloses a 
plot the malignity of which could scarcely be 

"Violet and Hubert made the acquain- 
tance of Madame Sara a few months before 
Violet's marriage. You know Madame's 
power of fascination. She won Violet's 
affections, and as to Hubert, she had such 
complete influence over him that he would 
do anything in the world she wished. We 
were surprised at his determination to go to 
Australia before his sister's wedding, but it 
now turns out that he was forced to go by 
Madame herself, who assured him that he 
could be of the utmost assistance to her in a 
special matter of business. This was ex- 
plained to Violet and to me fully ; but what 
we were not told was that he took with him 
Madame's own special servant, an Arabian of 
the name of Achmed, the cleverest man, 
Hubert said, he had ever met. In his 
absence Madame rented his house for at 
least a year. All this sounds innocent 
enough ; but listen. 

"Very shortly after her marriage Violet 
began to receive letters from Hubert, dated 
from various stations in Australia, demanding 
money. These demands were couched in 
such terms as to terrify the poor child. She 
sent him what she could from her own 
supplies, but he was insatiable. At last she 
spoke to Madame Sara. Madame imme- 
diately told her she had learnt that Hubert 
had made some bad companions, had got 
into serious scrapes, and that his debts of 
honour were so enormous that unless she, 

by Google 

Violet, helped him he could never set foot 
in England again. The poor girl was too 
much ashamed to say a word to me. These 
letters imploring money came by almost 
every mail. Madame herself offered to 
transmit the money, and Violet, with the 
utmost confidence, placed large sums in her 

" At last the crisis arrived. A communica- 
tion reached my poor girl to the effect that 
unless she paid between two and three thou- 
sand pounds in notes in a couple of days 
Hubert in his despair would certainly take 
his life. She was well aware of his some 
what reckless character. Hence her request 
to you to sell the bonds. Shortly afterwards 
the Persian arrived here, and Madame, at her 
own request, came to spend the night. She 
managed to terrify Violet with a fresh story 
with regard to Hubert, and the child's nerves 
were so undermined that she believed every- 

" Well, you know the rest. You know 
what happened last night. But for Vande- 
leur's genius, where might poor Violet be 
now? I must tell you frankly that even I 
believed her guilty ; I could not doubt the 
evidence of my own senses. 

" You can judge of our amazement when 
Hubert walked in this morning. He looked 
well. He said that Madame's business was 
of a simple character, that he had soon 
put matters right for her, and after seeing 
what was to be seen in Australia and New 
Zealand came home. He was amazed when 
we spoke of his being in money difficulties ; 
he had never been in any scrape at all. Only 
one thing he could not understand — why 
Violet never answered his letters. He wrote 
to her about every second mail, and, as a 
rule, gave his letters to the Arabian to post. 
There is no doubt that Achmed destroyed 
them and wrote others on his own account. 

"Well, Druce, what do you say? The 
motive ? Oh, of course, the motive was the 
bloodstone. The woman knew probably for 
months that it was coming to England, and 
that I, in my official position, would invite the 
Persian here. She wanted it, goodness knows 
for what, and was determined to have a long 
chain of evidence against poor Violet in 
order to cover her own theft. Druce, we 
must find that woman. She cannpt possibly 
be at large any longer." 

The desire to find Madame was in all our 
minds, but how to accomplish it was a ques- 
tion which I for one did not dare to answer. 

Original from 

The Humour of Sport, 

By Arthur Thomas, 

ITH football as it will be we 
are but little concerned, except 
to remark that the time is far 
distant when the umpire will 
inquire if the ambulance corps 
be ready before he calls out 
" Play \ n Let us hope that the British foot- 
ball field will lack for many years the corps 
of doctors, water - carriers^ and bandage- 
appliers so com- 
mon in every 
game on American 
grounds. There* 
where Rugby only, 
or a variation of it, 
is played, the field 
is at times a scene 
of carnage and 
cripples, mostly 
caused by the 
scientific, though 
brutal, system of 
"interference" play 
which has been de- 
veloped. England 
has nothing to show 
like it, and the oc- 
casional accidents 
on home grounds 
are trifles compared 
with the serious 
catastrophes daily 
happening in games 
between A mer i can 

There is quite 
enough to do to 
deal with football 
as it is- For the 

great mass of people it is the prime winter 
sport, and the football player, during the 
short period of six or seven months, is more 
of a hero with a certain public than the 
Prime Minister, Fancy the latter, for 
instance, going up to Everton and taking 
a thousand pounds in gate-money, or 
drawing a hundred thousand people to the 
Palace to see him work off a tie with the 
Colonial Secretary ! The first of these fancies 
may be more ridiculous than the second, yet 
both are but a mean attempt to show that in 

the life of the present day a score of men 
running after a ball make more fun worth 
paying for than one man chasing a reputation. 
One must admit that the impulse of 
conflict is a primary impulse of Anglo-Saxon 
blood, and the qualities that go to make up 
the good football player are the qualities that 
have made our generals and admirals. The 
spirit of obedience is fostered, endurance is 

Pk ei: a utjon.— (Football as jt Will Sow* Be.) 
UmI'TRE (to Ambulance Corps) : " Kcady, there ? " 
Ambulance : " Right." 
Umpire (10 players) : " Play ! " 

DRAWN HV l- r HAVEN -Hi: r L FOR " FlCK-hE-ur." 


tested, courage is stimulated, and the power 
to act in unexpected emergency is developed 
by football. The value of concerted action 
is illustrated on the field just as it is illus- 
trated in politics or battle, and the dogged - 
ness of our race achieves set purpose with 
as much success between two goal-posts on 
Saturday afternoon as it achieves greater and 
grander purposes in the history of centuries. 
Football meets the demands of a commercial 
and hard working people, as the tourneys 
and joustirtgs of old met the demands 




The Place-Kick,— Another slight miscalcuLiuon* 


of chivalry, for in both cases the spirit of 
struggle between man and man is first 
and foremost. The difference is that the 
knights of old fought for love of woman — 
the football associations for better dividends. 

There is a well- 
authenticated story 
to the effect that 
when the Danes 
overran England a 
mutch was played at 
Chester to comme- 
morate the victory of 
the local forces, and 
the ball used in the 
game was the head 
of a Dane who had 
been conquered in 
battle. It is, per- 
haps, wise to point 
out that the ( * place- 
kick " shown in one 
of our pictures has 
no reference to this 
historic occasion, 
and that the slight 
miscalculation pic- 
tured by the artist is 
;i fanciful attempt to 
show what might 
happen at any mo- 
ment on an English 
football field. Here 
we get a strenuous 
portrayal of an up- 
to - date game, with 

Wi-i.t, EAkNfcb. — Enthusiastic Footballers 



the beef of the true Briton, the refined 
features of the players, full in evidence, and 
the sixpenny or shilling public in the back- 
ground enjoying with common enthusiasm 
that which they cannot wholly see, and see- 
ing many things that 
they ought not 
wholly to enjoy* 

Our illustration of 
the enthusiastic foot- 
baller who has made 
a well-earned try 
after leaving his op- 
ponents strewn be- 
hind him on the field 
of battle should par- 
ticularly please our 
American friends* as 
the field here looks 
like an American 
** gridiron tJ after an 
inter - collegiate con- 
test This is Rugby, 
to be sure — that 
noble game which 
has accounted for 
more* bad language 
and broken bones 
than any sport ever 
invented by sangui- 
nary man, but which 
is no longer a mere 
exhibition of muscu- 
larityand brute force, 

Thatiii uy, The n scrum » re _ 

Original frP a ' ns t0 test the en- 



Nothing Lckf: Le at HtR. — Professor N<*odle, who has 
joined the Gaphani Lunatics F.C-, has the aW'e dream the 
night following his fltfit jnaich, 

dkawn Font "jujiv." 

durance and temper of the burly combatants, 
but the development of team play at the sides 
— or "end play," as it is sometimes called — 
has worked a gratifying change in the game, 
minimizing the 
"scrums " and 
giving the spec- 
tator more for his 
money than he 
used to get The 
cornbi n a t i on 
play, the art of 
throwing and 
catching the ball, 
have tended to 
reduce the acci- 
dents. Associa- 
tion is much less 
dangerous to 
play, but to one 
about to join a 
club it has, how- 
ever, its disad- 
vantages, as Pro- 
fessor Noodle 
might testify. 

The troubles 
of umpire and 
referee, however, 
are still fruitful 
in joke, though 
the hard- working 
referee would be 


feg Mu ' 

IE*** • c ;?-> 

Ax Impediment*— " Hold I hold 3 Hi, refers, why don't you bluw the 
'* I—I c— can't. I've swallowed it. 


bATtBFACTQRV to E v EK viikk. — Captain : *" Here, [v-.crce, my 
men say they'll murder you after the match if yon declare us the 

Referee : " Yes ; and » the other side say the same, it'* pretty 
evident to me this game will l*c a draw + " 

PRAWN BV Kr C, SANDV KUK *' PICK-ME-L'} 1 . 1 " 

the last man in 
the world to see 
any fun in it. 
The time is said 
to be past when 
referees can be 
bought and sold, 
but there have 
been occasions 
when important 
decisions have 
been open to 
severe examina- 
tion and criti- 
cism. The time 
has also passed 
when a captain 
can threaten a 
referee with mur- 
der should his 
side be declared 
a loser, but if 
such threat ever 
be made again 
the referee J s 
course of action 
is certain. De- 
clare a draw and 


fok -the KQri'ginal from 




Puffins : " Ah I You may kick, but you don't budge from here until they're too far off to unduly 
excite you.* 


everyone is satisfied. Ten to one the game 
will be played over again, more bets will be 
made, more ginger ■ beer, milk, and other 
liquid consumed, and more money drop into 
the coffers of the competing teams. It is 
really a very great game. 

The referee occasionally swallows the 
whistle, and thereby impedes the game and 
his own digestion, but trifles such as these 
should never count. Let the referee not 
forget that the credit of England and 
Scotland is, perhaps, at stake, and that un- 
certainty in his 
decision may 
bring down upon 
his head the con- 
demnation of a 
multitude of 
Scots who know, 
with surprising 
aptness, how to 
let their wrath go 
forth with inten- 
sity of effect. On 
behalf of the 
referee, be it said, 
he rarely has full 
justice done him. 
It is sometimes 
forgotten that he 
holds the most 
difficult position 
in the game, that 
his responsibili- 
ties are great, and 

that the reward of 
his diligence is 
usually complaint 
The ideal referee 
should be a man 
with thin legs, 
boots, a cast- iron 
constitution, eyes 
on all sides of his 
head, and some 
knowledge of the 
manly art, where- 
with to defend his 
honest convictions 
against scurrilous 
attack. He should 
be bigger than any 
player in either of 
the opposing 
teams, and should 
always be where he 
ought to be and 
not where he usu- 
said, M He must 
halfpence, and be 

ally is. One writer has 

expect all kicks and no 

content to be almost always blamed and but 

seldom praised." In other words, he should 

be a paragon of righteousness and propriety. 

Is it any wonder, then, that the referees we 

see in caricature fall far short of the ideal ? 

The history of hunting is almost as old as 
England itself, which means that for centuries 
the tally-ho of the huntsman and the cry of 
the pack have been heard in fiuld and road. 
44 If you would learn the business of a hunts- 

A Feflikg Reply.— Matchless SwcN : " Have you a liffht, sir?" 

Battered Foreigner : '* Ah ! yts, sarc, I have alight on my head a» ze Last joornp." 

fw I DRAWN BV C. M. } ALL A?! D V&\ft&jum$ ITI 




There is a delicious thrilt in the cross- 
country gallop 6< with the best fellows in 
the world to the right and the left hut 
never a soul -twixt yourself and the 
hounds," and a special ecstasy in the 
eager breeze of an early morning. The 
un ecstatic moments come in the course 
of the sport, for it is certainly no plea- 
sure to be thrown, even though you 
have the satisfaction of telling your 
mount, H Ah I You may kick, but you 
don't budge from here until they're too far 
off 10 unduly excite you." One of the 
cardinal rules of an old huntsman was 
never to part company with your horse 
till the last moment, which, in its way, 
seems an unnecessary piece of advice, as 
the last moment is bound to come 
sooner or later even to the best -regulated 
horseman. Philosophy is usually at a 
premium in moments like these, and 
there are but few lovers of the chase 
in England who would willingly admit 
their plight as did the gentleman from 

Absence op— House.— Lady Ethtl : M Slop— stop, CAptain 
Booby, you've forgotten your horac I ,h 


man," says one, "go and hunt with one of 
good repute," and (we ourselves may add to 
the ordinary mortal) if you wish to make 
yourself ridiculous go and do likewise. For 
there is no sport in which the novice can so 
quickly make sport for others, "'Unting, 
my beloved 'earers,'* said the well-known Mr. 
Jorrocks, "is the sport of kings, the himage 
of war without its guilt, and only five-and- 
twenty per cent, of its danger" To indulge 
in it, knowing nothing of it, Jorrocks might 
have added, is to open up before yourself a 
career of inane acts never to be forgotten. 
Leech did not greatly exaggerate when he 
took the lamented Mr. Briggs through a series 
of almost unparalleled disasters in the field, 
and since Leech's time the humorists have 
let no occasion slip to show up the novice 
and his blunders. 

The outsider can easily understand the 
advantages of venery. Nothing more quickly 
brings to the face the flush of health. 
Nothing can more quickly develop rapidity 
of decision, and the sweet air of the country- 
side should he as balm to the jaded towns- 
man who may have been invited to a meet. 
Vol. «v.-aa 

/ VjOOSIc 

WRETCifEti Buy (to Brown, who has just succeeded Ln pulling 
1 his mount): " Shall I 'it *im beind T sir? " and does it with. 


out waiting for a reply, 







i&, " 

STfLL in the Shafts. — Mr. Longfoot (to disagreeable Friend who has tried to dtMroy the 
" You said he would never make a hunter and that he wan only fit fur 

reputation of his new horse) : 

harness. Why H he carries me splendidly/ 

Disagreeable Friend : M Yes, no doubt he carries you well 
he is still in harness" 


the Continent in one of our illustrations. He 
was somewhat battered, but when asked by 
the matchless swell, " Have you a light, sir ? " 

that presence is 
distinctly irritat- 
ing, To take off 
too quickly and to 
come a crowner 
into a field, as 
Captain Booby 
most have done, 
while his fair 
comrade negoti- 
ated the hedge 
with ease, is a mo- 
ment that gives 
time for thought ; 
but to be reminded 
by the lady that 
44 You've forgotten 
your horse " is a 
little too annoying 
even to the best- 
appointed temper. 
It is, by the way, 
just as well to re- 
member that one 
never falls off one's horse when riding to 
hounds, although one may really do so. The 
polite way for you to refer to such a catas- 
trophe is to say tl Mr, So-and-So has taken 
a fall," and when you have said it thus 
euphemistically, hut in proper fashion, you 
are fit to be welcomed in good society. 

Boys are sometimes almost as nasty as 
ladies in their remarks to the unfortunate. 

He sees thos* feet of your* and thinks 


Thm Shooting Season.— According to a contemporary t some 
sensational bag* are being made in Norfolk. 


replied, " Ah ! yes, sare, I have alight on my 
head at ze last joomp." 

The presence of the lady in the hunting- 
field is now too common to excite much 
remark, but there must he moments when 

Digitized by G< 

A Useful Bm r — Rinks {who has taken a shooting-bo** to 
&mall boy applying for a utUAtkm) : "Well, what i:an you do? " 

Small Boy : " Please, sji\ I thought I might go out with you 
a-shooting and pick up the poultry. ' 


Original from 


2J 9 

Brown, as we can see, has on one occasion 
just succeeded in pulling up his mount, when 
a wretched youth, coming up with the re- 
mark : " Shall I 'it 1m be'ind, sir ? " 
proceeds to do it without waiting for Mr. 
Brown to answer. 
Brown's lightning 
dash begins again 
accordingly, his 
plight reminding 
one of the fat lady 
who rode all day on 
the Inner Circle, 
" Whenever I tries 
to get out back- 
wards," she said, *•« 
guard comes up and 
pushes me in, 
i? Urry up, mum ! ' 
J e says, shutting the 
door be'ind me, and 
'ere I J ave been all 
day trying to get out 
at Charing Cross," 
Shooting lends it- 
self also to carica- 
ture, and the foibles 
of the a mateur 
sportsman during 
the pheasant and 
grouse seasons have 
been pleasantly put 
before us in the 
comic prints. One 
of our artists has 
I ret Lily illustrated 
the meaning of the oft-published statement 
about the sensational ba^s that are sometimes 
made, and another has directed attention to 
the confusion existing in the public mind as 
to the proper use of shooting terms, by repre- 
senting a small boy in search of a situation. 
" Please, sir, I thought I might go out with 

Hard Limes* — Friend : iv \Vhnx luck, my bny Y" 

Noble Sportsman (who has done a. liltle unintentional killing)' 
■*Um! Nat veiy much. Well, fact is, don't you knnw r I ran out 
of dogs." 


you a-shooting and pick up the poultry." To 
be clothed in the most proper togs, to have 
taken a shooting- box for the season, and then 
to be addressed in such an unintelligent 
manner, should cause commotion in the 

feelings of the best 
of sportsmen. 

Some of our 
readers will re mem - 
ber Dickens's de- 
scription of Mr, 
Winkle as a sports- 
man. Many an 
amateur sportsman, 
from the holiday- 
seeking butcher to 
the noble lord who 
did a little uninten- 
tional killing and 
14 ran out of dogs," 
is like Winkle in 
his displays of 
fancy shooting, with 
damaging results 
not only to dogs but 
to beaters. If acci- 
dents occur in the 
future as they have 
done in the past, the 
English gamekeeper 
will have to take a 
leaf from the book 
of the Adirondack 
guide, who was per- 
fectly willing to go 
after deer with the 
city man, but not until he had put on his 
hunting-suit. We would thank the proprie- 
tors of Pkk-mt-up, Messrs. James Hender- 
son, Red Lion Court, E.C, and Mr. Gilbert 
Dalziel, for permission to reproduce the 
drawings taken from Pick-me-up, Judge % and 
Judy respectively. 


' AH ready, stranger I ' 

Adirondack Guide: "Go after deer with you? 
Why, ttrtinl Wait till I get on my hunting-4uit."' HUNTER-PROOF 


/^ ~ Qriqma from 



L iving L iliputia its. 

By VVellesley Patn, Photos, by George Newnes, Ltd. 

[-THOUGH Mr. David 
Devant, the well-known partner 
of Messrs, Maskelyne and 
Cooke, do^s not make many 
appearances in public with his 
living marionettes — the reason 
being that the public insist on seeing his 
tricks and illusions yet he has nut neglected 
this little branch of the entertainer's art. 
Many a performance has he given privately 
to his friends, and several of his pupils have 
begged to be released from the task of learn- 
ing how to " pass " and Li palm "and other- 
wise mystify their 
friends, in order that 
they might know 
something about that 
unique entertainment 
known as "living 
marionettes/ 1 

Mr. Devant was 
good enough to fur- 
nish me wiih all the 
information necessary 
for the making of this 
article. To begin 
with, for the benefit 
of those who have 
never seen such a 
performance — and, 
as the method of 
working has never 
been explained be- 
fore, living marion- 
ettes are seldom seen 
in private houses— 
we may say that the 
performance consists 
of songs and dances 
by a number of 
lively little figures on 
a stage about twice 
as large as that 
usually seen in a Punch and Judy show* 
The bodies of the ** performers " are no 
larger than those of fair-sized dolls, but the 
heads are abnormally large, and much of the 
fun is caused by this lack of proportion. 
We give the main secret away aL once 
when we state that only the heads of the 
" performers T> are really alive ; the bodies, 
however, are so skilfully arranged and worked 
that they have theappearance of life, 

nance uj i ut + 

by Google 

A peep behind the scenes of Mr. David 
Devant's own living marionettes affords the 
simplest explanation of how the performance 
is given. In the first photograph we see the 
miniature stage, stripped of all its accessories. 
The particular stage photographed was un- 
necessarily heavy. For the convenience of 
travelling it will be well to have a much 
lighter structure, and it should be so made 
that it can be taken to pieces and packed 
flat. It will be noticed that in front of the 
stage, resting on the ground, are two stout 
boards, joined at right angles, with three oil 

lamps attached to 
them. On the other 
side of the stage one 
sees how these boards 
are attached to the 
proscenium. These 
lamps take the place 
of the footlights, 
and, therefore, there 
must be powerful re- 
flectors at the back 
of the flames- Bicycle 
lamps answer very 
well. A prettier 
effect — but one en- 
tailing a little more 
trouble— is produced 
by having miniature 
footlights in front of 
the stage. The lights 
are given by eight or 
ten short candles 
shielded by reflec- 

The stage need 
not be more than 
eighteen inches wide, 
and it should be 
covered with a black 
material, very thin, 
so that when the " per former s " execute a 
step-dance the movements of their feet can 
be heard properly. The sides of the stage 
must also be black. 

The next thing to be noticed in the photo- 
graph is that there is a stout piece of wood 
extending from the front to several feet 
behind the stage. A similar piece of wood 
is on the other side of the stage. It is not 
necessary that these pieces of wood should 



From a Photo. 



2.— showlnc; 
Prom a] 



be as heavy as those 
shown in the photo- 
graphs, since they are 
only used as rods on 
which to hang cur- 
tains and other light 

Mr. Devant told 
me of a lighter 
structure that could 
be made like a 
clothes-horse, the 
boards for the stage 
and the rods for the 
curtains being laid 
across. The whole 
of the structure is to 
be covered with cur- 
tains, when it will 
look something like 
the second photo- 
graph* The rod in 
front carries two little 
curtains, which are 
tied back before the 
performance begins. 
These two small cur- 
tains hide the boards 
to which the lamps 
are attached. There 
must also be an "act-drop"; it is shown nearly 
raised in the photograph. The "act-drop" 
is to be worked with a stout cord— purposely 
shown white in the picture— but the cord 
must be 
black so 
that it does 
not show 
against the 
side of the 
stage. This 
cord must 
be brought 
through the 
curtain at 
the back, 
and the 
"act -drop" 
must be so 
that the 
human per- 
f o r m e r at 
the back of 
the curtain 
can lower or raise the "act-drop" by simply 
pulling or releasing the cord* An ordinary 
roller-blind answers very well The "act- 
drop " should be prettily painted, so that the 

Digitized by VjOOg J C 

WORKED, {PKuto. 

3, — A FI^UKJ 

Frmn m 

whole thing may look 
as much like a minia- 
ture stage as possible. 
The curtains hanging 
from the bottom of 
the stage should not 
be caught up at one 
corner, as shown in 
the picture. The 
picture was purposely 
arranged in this way 
to show how the cur- 
tains were to be hung 
on the framework. 

The black curtain 
at the back of the 
stage must have two 
large slits in it On 
one side of each slit 
three or four black 
buttons are to be 
sewn, and button- 
holes to correspond 
must be on the other 
side. In the second 
photograph M r. 
Devant himself is 
seen peeping through 
one of these slits 
and holding one of 
the buttons in his right hand. The rest of the 
"performer 1 ' Is shown lying in an undignified 
attitude on the stage, with one leg dangling 
over the front. It will be noticed that the 

has no head. 
Mr, Devant 
supplies that 
by using his 
own head. 
Having pre- 
viously made 
himself up 
for the char- 
act er — i n 
this case a 
— Mr, De- 
vant puts 
his head 
through the 
curtain, rests 
it on the 
neck of the 
little performer, and fastens it there. The 
curtain is buttoned at Mr. Devant's neck, but 
the bottom part of the slit is left open. Through 
that slit stout wires, connected with the arms 






and legs of the " performer," are passed, and 
they are so long that Mr, Devant, standing 
behind the curtain, can easily hold them. In 
this way the little figure is made to move 
about as though it were alive, and the living 
face above adds to the illusion. Amateurs 
should bear in mind that the wires attached 
to the doll are to be covered with black stuff, 
and the manipulator must wear black gloves, 
Then, as the performance takes place in front 
of a black curtain, the wires are not seen. 

The complete figure is shown in the third 

So fur wc have followed the performer as 
he makes his en- 

a figure 

be so ample that they hang in folds ; in this 
way the opening through which the wires are 
passed will be quite concealed. 

The fourth photograph shows exactly how 
is worked. The ends of the wires 
are bent into rings, through which the 
fingers of the human performer pass. It will 
be seen that the thumb of each hand works 
an arm of the figure, while the third finger 
is responsible for the leg movements. To 
avovd all chance of a " break - away ]| the 

Digitized by G* 

figure is also attached to the performer by a 
broad tape passed round the waist- If the 
face and neck of the man working the figure 
are properly made up there will be no 
apparent " break JP between the collar and 
the neck of the entire figure. The doll must 
have limbs that can be moved very easily ; 
the ordinary jointed doll works too stiffly. 
The best plan is to get an ordinary doll, take 
off the limbs, sew up the ends to prevent the 
sawdust from escaping, and then attach the 
limbs to the body with cloth hinges. The 
cheapest way of getting a collection of figures 
together is to buy the dolls undressed and 

to have t h e 
clothes made at 
home. The only 
part that requires 
particular atten- 
tion is the collar 
of the coat or 
dress. This must 
be so arranged 
that it can go 
partly round the 
neck of the 
human performer. 
The fourth photo- 
graph shows 
clearly the kind 
of thing that is 

So far we have 
arranged for the 
appearance of 
only one per- 
former on the 
stage. The second 
figure should be 
that of a lady. 
This figure is 
even less trouble 
than the first, 
because the doll's 
dress can be so 
easily arranged 
at the neck that 
the "break" 
between the head and the neck of the 
dress is concealed. 

The amateur will, perhaps, inquire at this 
stage: "What about the changing of the 
dresses?" This is, possibly, the part of the 
entertainment in which amateurs are most 
likely to fail. The fifth photograph shows 
the back of the stage while a performance 
is in progress. Before the performers retire, 
the one nearest the cord working the M act- 
drop" will slip his right hand out of the 




from a] 


wires of the doll and will release the cord 
that lowers the (E act-drop," Then the 
only change that the human performers 
have to see to is the make-up of their 
faces. To do this a light is required, but 
if a lighted lamp is placed behind the 
black curtain of the stage 
the movements of the per 
formers behind the scenes 
will be fairly visible to 
those in front. Therefore, 
there must be a second 
black curtain hung imme- 
diately behind the per- 
formers. (This curtain is 
not shown in the photo- 
graph, as it would have 
hidden the performers.) 
This second curtain should 
be thick and heavy, in 
order that all light may be 
excluded from the back of 
the stage. The various 
figures and wigs required 
can be hung up in readi- 

ness, as shown in the 
picture, and there should 
also be two small looking- 
glasses. The amateur 
must be cautioned not to 
spend too much time in 
front of these, as the en- 
tertainment will be quite 
spoilt by long "waits." 
Before an amateur gives 
a performance to his 
friends he should practise 
making up from one char- 
acter to another. Every- 
thing should be in order 
behind the scenes— a place 
for everything and every- 
thing in its place, 

A very good plan — for 
the amateur who wants 
merely to add to the even- 
ing's amusement and does 
not try to give an elaborate 
performance — is to have 
several of the guests made 
up, and then to induce 
these good people to sing 
a song while they put their 
head through the curtain. 
The expert performer 
fastens the doll to the 
obliging guest, and like- 
it'h»to, w ; se works the move- 
ments of the doll. This 
generally amuses a roomful of people. 
Even an amateur reciter will find that 
his attempt to amuse his friends will 
provoke laughter if he will only perform in 
this way, while the man who is fond of 
talking a great deal will find that people 

by ^C 



Original from 



will listen to him if he only consents to be 
a living marionette for the time being* 

The legitimate performance can be varied 
in many ways Songs, dances, short duologues, 
with occasionally a little pantomime "busi- 

to communicate with the 


In concluding his instructions on how to 
work living marionettes Mr + Devant said : 
11 Beware of insufficient rehearsals. Every 




ness," can be arranged. The remaining three 
photographs give one an idea of the kind 
of figures that can be made to appear on the 
stage. Note the difference between Mr. 
Devant as Tommy Atkins and as Mephisto- 
pheles. The change was made very quickly 
with a little 
grease paint. 

All the music 
required in the 
performance can 
be given by a 
man at a piano, 
but there must be 
many rehearsals, 
because once 
Ihe performance 
has commenced 
it will be 

detail must be practised. It is well to 
remember, too, that nothing falls quite so flat 
as a joke that everyone knows by heart. If 
you cannot make good jokes of your own, 
then let the principal part of your performance 
consist of songs — comic, of course — and 

dances. If you 
can work in some- 
thing topical so 
much the better. 
At the end of the 
performance — if 
the applause war- 
rants his doing so 
— the performer 
should come from 
behind and bow 
his acknowledg- 
ments* 1J 

/■Vgih a] 



by Google 

Original from 



N spite of herself, Irene was 
rather impressed on first enter- 
ing the banqueting hall It 
was so much larger and more 
imposing than anything she 
had expected. - Four massive 
columns, at the'foot of each of which stood a 
wooden soldier shouldering arms, supported 
the lofty roof, and on all four sides hung 
crimson cumins, not too low to allow plenty 
of light to enter beneath their heavy fringes, 
* £ Fd no idea Clementina, had any place as 
grand as this! " she thought- and then realized 
all at once that t as a matter of fact, they were 
only underneath the nursery table, 

The company were already seated, the 
Queen, of course, at the head of the board, 
which was covered with a white cloth that 
was too stiff to hang properly. A place was 
kept on each side of her for Torquil and 
Irene; at the other end, facing her, sat the 
Ix>rd High Acrobat, and the remaining chairs 
were occupied by the Dolls of honour, the 
Ninepins having chosen to remain standing 

" UVre sorry we're late," said Irene, not 
very penitently, for she thought Clementina 



might have waited for them. " We didn't 
know you had sat down*" 

M Oh, but we have, though ! " said Clemen- 
tina, with immense pride. M All by ourselves, 
too ! And we laid the table as well. I 
really don't know what's come to us alt ! 
Isn't it a beautiful banquet ? " 

* ( Everything looks very nice," said Irene, 
looking down the table, which was sumptu- 
ously set out. In the centre were the big 
Britannia metal teapot, milk-jug, and sugar- 
basin — but merely for purposes of display — 
and everybody had wooden soup - plates 
painted white and blue, which, with two 
vases of artificial flowers, she recognised as 
part of a dinner-service that had once been 
given to her, "I suppose the banquet will 
begin soon ? n she remarked. 

"It has begun," said the Queen ; u if you 
don't make haste and eat your soup it will 
get cold. And it's such excellent soup — 
made entirely from flies' wings/' 

1( Oh ! " said Irene, resolved not to mention 
that for some reason they seemed to have 
forgotten to fill her and To rq nil's plates, 
while the rest had emptied theirs already. 

11 It's time for the second course !" cried 
Clementina ; whereupon the Ninepins began 
to topple about and bump up against one 
another, evidently under the impression that 
they were changing plates and handing 
dishes. " Though hon\ when they've got no 
arms/' thought Irene, "I'm sure I don't 
know ! " 

u Buffidella, dear,*' said the Queen, in the 

George Newnes, ©Wfeflifo a I f TO FTl 




friendliest manner, "do let me give you some 
more of this delicious curried clothes-moth ! " 

Irene hardly knew what to say — for she 
still had the same empty soup-plate before 
her, and so had everybody else, while the 
dish before Clementina was absolutely bare. 
However, for all she could tell, there might 
be some curried clothes-moth somewhere, 
and she felt sure it would be anything but 
delicious, so she declined, as politely as she 
could bring herself to do. 

" It is satisfying, I know," said Clemen- 
tina. " Chipsitop, won't you try a leg of this 
nice roast bluebottle ? " and she pointed 
serenely to the very same dish. 

Torquil felt that he was being trifled with, 
and he saw no fun in playing at banquets 
with nothing whatever to eat. " I don't see 
any bluebottle," he said, grumpily, " but I 
wouldn't have any if I did. I know roast 
bluebottle would be beastly ! " 

" It's their nature, poor things," said the 
Queen. " But you really must have some- 
thing. You and Buffidella are eating posi- 
tively nothing. Now, why is that?" 

11 Because," Torquil blurted out, " if you 
want to know, we've had nothing to eat yet." 

" But, my dear Chipsitop," said the Queen, 
" you've had exactly the same as everybody 
else ! " 

"You see," explained Irene, "it doesn't 
matter for you ; you don't mind how little 
you eat. But Torquil ahd I are used to 
something more substantial." 

" But surely this banquet is substantial ? " 
cried Clementina. " Why, there are real 
dishes and knives and forks, and the State 
Britannia metal plate, and everything ! " 

41 Everything except real food" said Irene. 
"But never mind. I dare say this does quite 
as well — when you don't happen to be hungry." 

" Still, it's better to have some real food — 
at a banquet," said the Queen. " I knew 
there was something wanting ! But, at all 
events, there's plenty to drink. My Lord 
High Acrobat, will you please to pass the 
wine ? The red's currant and the white is 
orange," she explained \ " you must taste 
both and tell me which you like best." 

A goblet of red liquid and another of 
yellow were passed up, and very clear and 
refreshing they looked, only, unfortunately, 
it was quite impossible to taste them, as 
they were completely enclosed in glass. 

" The advantage of this wine," said 
Clementina, proudly, as Torquil and Irene 
put their goblets down, " is that you can't 
waste it. However much you drink, the 
glass keeps as full as ever." 

by Google 

"But we can't drink a drop," said Torquil. 

" Can't you ? " said the Queen, with con- 
cern. "I am so sorry. We must see by-and- 
by if we can't get some wine you can drink — 
at the grocer's. Tell me, Buffidella, do you 
think it's time the banquet ended ?" 

" Quite, / think," said Irene, for after all 
this parade she was a little cross at not having 
had even an ordinary tea. "There's not much 
sense in having a very long banquet without 
anything to eat or drink at all, is there ? " 

" I suppose there isn't much," Clementina 
admitted. " And besides, there's the Court 
ball to come." 

Irene glanced at the stiff Dutch dolls and 
the limp composition ones, and the great, 
clumsy Ninepins, with growing doubts. "I 
suppose," she said, "all these — a — ladies and 
gentlemen can dance?" 

" I've never heard them say they couldn't" 
said the Queen, " but the Prime Minister is 
sure to know. My Lord High Acrobat," she 
called across the table, "can the Court 
dance ? " 

" Dance, your Majesty ? " said the Prime 
Minister; "to be sure they can— fluently ! " 
And all the Dolls of honour sat up and 
simpered with conscious pride. 

" Then clear away the table," commanded 
the Queen, " and let the ball begin." 

They managed to clear the hall somehow, 
and dancing began. Irene had often heard 
of people talking French fluently, but she 
had never heard of dancing fluently, and she 
was curious to see how it was done. She 
very soon decided that it was not at all the 
same thing as dancing well. 

The Court ladies bobbed about, curtsying 
whenever it occurred to them, generally to 
one of the wooden soldiers. The Ninepins 
blundered up against one another and bowed 
solemnly to nobody. Everyone danced by 
himself and herself, and seemed perfectly 
satisfied. As for Clementina, she looked on, 
beaming with pride and content. 

"The idea of calling this a ball! " said 
Irene, indignantly, to Torquil, as they stood 
apart. " Why, they haven't even a piano to 
dance to ! " 

"They don't want one for their kind of 
dancing," said Torquil. "This is a duffing 
party, and no mistake ! " 

"Just look at that Dutch doll 'making 
cheeses ' to the soldier over there ! " said 
Irene. "Isn't it silly? He can't make it 
out a bit — and no wonder ! And they're 
all so pleased with themselves, too ! " She 
checked herself suddenly, as she saw Cle- 
mentina coming up. 

Original from 




" Isn't it a pretty sight ? " cried the Queen, 
with childish glee, " I'd no notion they 
could dance so fluently as this. Have you 
ever seen anything like it before ? " 

Irene felt tempted to say that she had 
seen a monkey do something very like it on 
an organ, but she refrained, u It's not quite 
the way Torquil and I have been taught to 
dance/' she replied. 

Irene whispered to Torquil, " but we might 
manage a polka if you whistled the tune." 

Clementina was much pleased with theii 
performance of the polka. "It certainly is 
a great improvement — dancing in couples 
like that/ 1 she said, *' I'm going to dance 
with Chipsitop myself now." 

Of course, Torques dignity was severe!) 
tried by having to dance with a doll, and it 
was hard work too, for he could only just 
reach up to and round Clementina's waist, 
and had to swing her round and, in fact, do 
all the dancing himself. 


^"^♦tHILi-A*. . t**i 

* l Isn't it ? Do show us how jwu dance," 
said the Queen ; " it will be so interest- 
ing/ J 

" We can't very well without a piano," 
I rune explained, 

u Oh, but we have a splendid piano some- 
where," said Clementina; "well have it 
brought in." 

This was done, and the Prime Minister 
very kindly offered to play for the in. But 
as the piano only had six keys, and his 
notion of playing was to smack them at 
random w T ith his big, flat hands, it was just 
as well, perhaps, that all the notes were 
dumb, The Queen, at all events, was per- 
fectly satisfied with his efforts, and remarked 
that he had an exquisite touch. 

44 It's no use trying to dance to that" 

by LiOOglC 

Irene was glad for his sake when the Queen 
at last consented to stop. " It's quite easy ! pl 
said Clementina. " Now I want to see the 
whole Court dance in couples, with every 
courtier s arm round his partner's waist.*' 

Only, as few of the Dolls of honour had a 
waist, and none of the Ninepins an arm, 
this was not so easy as she imagined, and 
accordingly they begged the Queen to give 
them just one more lesson. 

f[ Very well," said Clementina, graciously, 
"and this time I'll dance it with the Prime 

It was in vain for the l^ord High Acrobat 
to plead that he had lost all his quicksilver 
and that he didn't know the step ; she insisted 
that it was ridiculously simple, and that she 
could teach htm in no time. So they started. 
Original from 




Irene felt certain that they would come to 
grief, but she had hardly expected it so soon. 
There was a little aimless prancing and 
slipping about, and then a total and most 
undignified collapse, which upset several 
Ninepins, who had been studying the new 
step with close attention. 

Irene had been feeling too hot and 
ashamed on Clementina's account to think 
of laughing even then. But when the Queen 
scrambled up out of the general scrimmage 
and remarked, with unaltered complacency, 
"That is the correct way to dance this very 
elegant step," Irene suddenly went off into 
peals of laughter. 

She was quite aware that it was not good 
manners, but she simply couldn't help it. 
And it wasn't as if Clementina had been a 
real Queen either, who might have ordered 
her to lose her head because she couldn't 
keep her countenance— she wasn't afraid of 
Clementina. So Irene laughed — wildly, 
helplessly, peal after peal— till the Queen 
and all her ladies stared at her in pained 
amazement, and the Ninepins wobbled with 

However, Clementina Seemed rather 
anxious than angry. "My dearest Buffi- 
della!" she cried/ "What is the matter? 
Do— do stop making those dreadful noises. 
They do alarm us so." 

But Irene couldn't leave off. "Your 
Majesty," said the Lord High Acrobat, " I 
fear the Lady Buffidella has been seized by 
some strange and sudden illness." 

They all showed the greatest concern, not 
knowing much about illness themselves, and 
fully believing, as dolls and toys are unaccus- 
tomed to laughing out loud, that nothing but 
illness could account for Irene's extraordinary 

" I'm better now," said Irene, as soon as 
she could speak. " It really was your fault- 
it was too funny to see you teaching everybody 
the polka when you've no idea how to do ft 

"But I have" said Clementina; "why, you 
saw me dance it with Chipsilop ! " 

"1 saw him dance it withjvw," said Irene; 
"it isn't quite the same thing. And really, 
you know, if I were you I shouldn't have a 
State bal' till you can all dance a little ! " 

"I'm sure," said the Queen, plaintively, "I 
don't know when we've all been so energetic." 

"Perhaps not," said Irene; "but it isn't 
real dancing— only just jigging about." 

" But we could learn real dancing if you 
would only teach us how ! " said Clementina. 

" You'd never learn properly," said Irene, 

by ^OOgle 

decisively ; "you're all of you too limp or too 
stiff. I think you had much better gi\e it 
up altogether." 

"Yes," said Clementina, "we won't go on 
with the ball any longer or we might make 
poor Buffidella ill again. Ill tell you what 
well do. We'll pay a State visit to the Court 
painter. He has studied in Paris, and he's 
the cleverest artist in the world, so I'm glad 
to have him in my Court. I think Queens 
ought to encourage art, don't you ? " 

" What kind of pictures does he paint?" 
asked Irene, wondering which of the toys it 
could be. 

" Well, he hasn't done any yet ; but he's 
going to do one of me as soon as he gets 
what he calls the ' mouvement.' He may have 
got it by this time. Let's go and see " ; and 
she led the way out of the banqueting-hall. 

" What are we supposed to be playing at 
now ? " Torquil asked Irene, as they followed 
the procession out under the fringe of the 
table-cover; and she told him they were going 
to visit a famous portrait painter from Paris. 

"I expect it's only that clockwork chap 
Aunt Hetty bought me in Oxford Street," 
said Torquil. "He was made in Paris, I 
know—most of those mechanical figures are ; 
father said so. But what rot calling him 
a famous portrait painter ! Why, he only 
draws one outline in pencil— and he can't 
colour that ! n 

" He may have improved," said Irene, 
though she thought it unlikely, and with this 
they came upon the artist himself, seated on 
a raised tin platform before a tin easel, on 
which was a sheet of blank paper. He was 
tin himself, but wore a brown blouse of real 
calico ; his pink and white face (which 
showed a line down each side where the two 
halves of his head joined) had a dreamily 
absent expression. 

" Don't trouble to rise," said the Queen, 
which, as he was soldered fast to his seat, 
showed true thoughtfulness on her part. 
" We've come to see if you've finished my 
portrait yet." 

4 * I attend still ze mouvement, madame ! n 
he replied, with an accent that reminded 
Irene of a French maid her mother had once 
had. "Ven I commence, I make of you a 
l>ortrait that shall be all there is of the 
most magnifique ! " 

" That's exactly the kind of portrait I 
should like," said Clementina. " But couldn't 
you commence now ? " 

" Alas, no ! " he replied. " Art is not to 
be pressed. I vork only ven I feel ze im- 
pulsion." Which the Lord High Acrobat 




explained was a proof that he was a real 

"The humbug!" said Torquil, in an 
undertone, to Irene ; " he knows jolly well he 
writ work unless somebody turns his handle 
for him ! " 

l( Let's try if we can't turn it and see what 
he draws," suggested Irene, mischievously. 
"It used to be a head of 'Punch. 1 What 
fun if he does it now ! " 

Torquil was willing enough, and they 
slipped unnoticed behind the artist, and 
began with some difficulty to turn the hig 
handle in his platform which set the 
machinery going. 

"Why, what can that queer, creaky noise 
be ?" exclaimed the Queen, in astonishment. 

" It is me, madame I " said the artist, ex- 

tina, who certainly wasn't vain— if she didn't 
know much about Art "Am I really like 

"A wonderful likeness," pronounced the 
Lord High Acrobat, who knew that that 
was the proper remark to make about any 
portrait. u Why, there's an eye, and a nose } 
and a mouth and chin, as plain as pos- 
sible ! " And the Ninepins all agreed that it 
was unmistakable. 

"What do you think, Chipsitop?" de- 
manded Clementina, as if she were beginning 
to have doubts. 


citedly, "At last ze moment s ave arrive! 
Yes, I go to paint my masterspiece ! " 

Irene could not restrain a little gurgle of 
laughter as the artist, following every stroke 
of his pencil with conceited motions of his 
head, traced slowly and jerkily on ihe paper 
before him a feeble outline which proved to 
be, indeed, the profile of *' Mr. Punch/' 

u Voi!a! n he said, proudly, as he stopped 
with a click. "'Ave I not surprised ze true 
expression, so gracious, so spirituelle, of your 
Majesty ? It is chic, hem ? " 

11 How very clever of you ! " cried Clemen- 

Digitized by GoOglc 

H l think," said Torquil, candidly, "that it 
might be more like you if you had a hook 
nose and a hump on your back. But it's 
rather like * Punch/" 

The Lord High Acrobat and the Ninepins 
admitted that the portrait certainly had a 
look of «■ Punch/ 1 

"But how can it have?" asked the Queen. 
li Because I'm not like * Punch/ We're not 
even related ! And I don't understand, Mr. 
Court Painter, how you could sit down to 
draw me and then do quite a different person 
of the name of ' Punch ' 1 " 
Original from 




" Pardon ! " he said. " An accident. Your 
Majesty is more difficult than I imagine." 

" See if you can draw me," said Irene, who 
knew very well that he couldn't. " You can't 
say Tm not easy ! " 

" You vould be nossing ! " he replied. 
11 Un'appily, ze impulsion 'ave all gone. I 
can vork no more." 

" Oh, yes, you can ! " insisted Irene, re- 
versing his sheet of paper for him. "Just 
you wait a minute and see ! " 

And again she and Torquil worked the 
handle, and, of course, the artist proceeded 
to draw the very same outline of " Punch," 
only rather fainter. 

" I 'ave succeed against my 'opes," he said, 
complacently. " A portrait that speaks ! " 

" My dear Buffidella ! " cried the Queen ; 
"it's the very image of you !" And all the 
Court said the same, which annoyed Irene 

" It's nothing of the sort ! " she declared. 
11 Why, it's just 4 Punch ' over again. If you 
only look at me you must see I'm no more 
like ' Punch ' than you are yourself ! " 

" She's right ! " said Clementina, after 
looking critically at Irene. " Buffidella's 
nose is short and quite straight, and she has 
long hair, too, with waves in it. Can't you 
draw people without humps and hook 
noses ? " she asked the painter. 

" Y could, madame, no doubt," he replied, 
" but it vould not be Art. Ze artiste draw 
as he see ! " 

" Don't you tell such corkers ! " burst out 
Torquil. " You can't draw at all till you're 
wound up — and then it's always the same old 
head of ' Punch.' Why," he added to the 
others, " if you looked inside him you'd see 
the machinery he does it with ! " 

" Ze public," said the painter, grandly, 
"'ave no concern viz ze inner life of ze 
artiste. He is judged by his vorks." 

" But your works are all inside you ! " said 
Torquil; "and they can't be seen unless 
you're opened." 

But the artist protested that if he were 
once opened he would in all probability 
never be able to draw anything again. 

" I don't think that would be any great 
loss," said Clementina, who had evidently 
lost all faith in him. " For there seems to 
be only one thing you can draw — and it's not 
even pretty. And if I had known you were 
so mechanical, I would never have let you be 
my Court painter. You needn't be opened 
this time, but if you wish to be forgiven you 
must learn to draw without being wound up, 
and to draw things out of your own head ! " 

And with these words she turned her back 
on him, while the Lord High Acrobat told 
the abashed artist that he hoped this ex- 
posure would be a warning to him for the 
future, and the Ninepins congratulated them- 
selves on there being no machinery or non- 
sense of that sort inside them ; and presently 
the whole Court moved on, leaving the 
painter in dumb despair, for he was 
apparently just beginning to realize that, 
try as he might, it was not in him to draw 
anything really original. 

"You needn't have told them about the 
clockwork," said Irene to Torquil, as they 
followed the Court. "It would have been 
so horrid for him if they had opened him ! " 

" I wish they had," said Torquil ; "I should 
have rather liked to see his works myself." 

" But wouldn't that be cruel, Torquil ? It 
might hurt him, you know ! " 

" Bosh ! " said Torquil, carelessly. " He's 
only tint And he was so jolly cocky, he 
wanted taking down a bit." 

"What /can't understand," said Irene, 
thoughtfully, " is how Clementina could ever 
have thought he was really a great painter." 

" Why, of course she didn't. She's not 
much better than some great silly kid, but 
she knows more than that. Don't you see 
how it is, Irene ? She thinks we don't know 
that all the things here are only toys, and 
that we sha'n't find out if only they can 
keep on pretending enough." 

" She can't be such a goose ! " cried Irene. 
"Even Clementina must see that we're not 
to be taken in so easily as all that." 

" Well, we'll soon let her see ! " said Tor- 
quil ; and just then they were interrupted by 
the Lord High Acrobat, who hopped fussily 
back to inform them that Her Majesty 
desired the pleasure of their company. 

by K: 





" I want to show you some of the prin- 
cipal sights in my kingdom," said Clementina, 
as they rejoined her, " and I'm sure you'll 
be astonished. First, I'll take you to see 
my model farm, and I thought we'd go there 
in a train — by railway, you know. Perhaps 
you don't know what a railway is ? " 

" Oh, yes, we do," said Torquil. 

" But not such a railway as mine," she 
said ; " it's a beauty — it's got a tunnel, and 
a station, and a train, and everything. There 
it is, you see ! " 

Now it was quite a cheap clockwork rail- 
way, with circular lines and a tiny tin station, 
so they could not pretend to go into ecstasies 




over it " I see a train," said Torquil, "but 
I don't see how we're to go anywhere in it" 

• We must find out," said Clementina. 
"There must be some way, or people 
wouldn't travel by train, ■* 

" Oh, I know how you travel by a real 
train," said Torquil ; " I've done it ever so 

"Then it's all right," she said, " for, of 

had no idea what tickets were, but he was 
too much of ari official to admit it. "I 
regret, your Majesty," he said, with a slight 
accent that showed that he was made in 
Germany, ** that I haf no dickets shoost 

"At real stations, 1 ' said Torquil, "they 
have to keep tickets." 

u When it is hot vedder," replied the 
station-master, shamelessly, 'you can- 
not keep anything*." 

" Tickets don't go bad ; they're 
not like rf>A, you know. And no 
real Station-master would think of 


course, I shouldn't have any train that wasn't 
real. How do you begin ? " 

"You begin," said Torquil, "by getting 
tickets. The station-master keeps them," 

" Of course," said Clementina. " There 
is the station-master." And with her usual 
toddle she bore clown upon a very small 
plaster official in a flat cap with a red top to 
11, who was standing stolidly on a spike in 
the platform. 4t I'm the Queen, and I want 
to travel by train, 1 ' she began. "Could you 
kindly give me some of your v^ry best 
tickets ? " 

The little station-master stared ; clearly he 

Digitized by G< 

allowing anybody to travel without a 

"That is quite true/ 1 said the station- 
master, " but for the Queen, of course, I 
make exceptions." Which was really smart of 
him, for even Torquil wasn't sure whether 
Queens travelled free or had to take tickets 
like ordinary people 

"In future," said the Queen, " you mustn't 
allow anybody to travel without at least one 
ticket .... What's the next thing to do, 
Buffidella, when you go hy train?"' 

11 Well, next, 1 ' said Irene, who could 
scarcely believe Clementina could be so 




ignorant, " you generally open one of the 
carriage doors and get in ; only there aren't 
any doors to these carriages." 

M Why, so there aren't ■ " cried Clementina. 
" What has become of all the carriage doors, 
Mr. Station-master ? " 

u On this line, your Majesty," he replied, 
'* we nefer have doors— nefer." 

"Then how do your passengers get in?" 
inquired' Irene. 

4 * They shtop outside," was the answer; 
"it is more comfortable — much*" 

u But I don't want to stop outside," said 
the Queen ; "I want to get in— we all do," 

11 Only we can't," said Torquil, " because, 
you see, we're all a lot too big." 

" It is petter outside," explained the 
station -master, placidly, " because I do not 
know when the train starts j and when it 
starts, always the second time round it runs 
off the rails — always," 

"Oh," said Clementina, looking rather dis- 
appointed, " very well ; but I must say I 
don't see that trains are so convenient to 
travel by, after all. They don't seem at all 

" Real trains are," said Torquil. " But, of 
course, this is a toy one." 

If Clementina had known 
this all along and had been 
hoping he wouldn't notice it 
she certainly passed it off un- 
commonly well. " What do 
you mean, Mr. Station- 
master?'* she said, in a tone 
that — for her — was almost 
severe, "What do you mean 
by providing me and my 
Court with a toy train? Be 
good enough to let us have a 
real one at once ! " 

"I am sorry," was all he 
could say, " but this is all the 
trains I hove." Whereupon 
the Prime Minister said the 
line was disgracefully managed, 
and the Ninepins agreed that 
it was perfectly scandalous. 

"What do you expect?" 
said Torquil ; 4C he's only 
plaster. He couldn't manage 
a real railway if he had 

But the Queen would listen to no excuses. 
" You're every bit as bad as the Court 
painter," she told the station-master; "and 
it's fortunate I found you out in time, I 
wouldn't travel by your line on any account. 
I shall walk to- the model farm instead. 

Luckily, :I she added to Irene and Torquil as 
she went on, "it's close by. And I know 
you'll be pleased with that Mr. and Mrs. 
Farmer do understand how to manage their 
business. At least, so I've always under- 
stood. But if you should notice anything at 
all amiss, you must be sure and tell me of it/' 

And Torquil promised to do so. 

The model farm turned out to be the one 
that Irene had had on her last birthday but 
one* It was the ordinary toyshop affair, with 
the usual crinkly sheep and piebald pigs 
and cows, two horses, one Indian red and 
the other slate colour, and curly little trees on 
stands. Mr, and Mrs. Farmer, accompanied 
by an utterly impossible white and yellow 
dog, were standing at the gate to receive 

11 How do you do, Mr. and Mrs. Farmer ? " 
began Clementina, in the friendliest manner, 
" I'm the Queen, you know, and I've brought 
my guests, Buffidella and Chipsitop, to see 
your beautiful farm." 

11 Your Majesty and your vrients are very 
vclgom," said Mr, Farmer, with a much 
stronger accent than the station- master- 
perhaps because he had not had such a good 


by Google 

I*. Jt. MII.LAK. 


education. "Egscuse that ve do nod salute. 
My hat he vill nod date off, and my vife she 
is too thick that shy make you a gurtiy." 

11 It doesn't mutter in the least," said 
Clementina, who, for a Queen, was remark- 
ably easy-going about etiquette, " Now, just 

Original from 




tell my friends exactly how you do your 
farming. " 

"How ve does our farmings?" repeated 
Mr. Farmer, with a bewildered look in his 
eyedots, and a general vacancy of expression 
that betrayed the blankest ignorance on the 
subject. " My vife, she exblain soch dings." 

" There is nodings to exblain," said Mrs. 
Farmer, nervously. "We farms shoost like 
other beoples." 

" Tell us," said Irene, who was, I am afraid, 
in a naughtily malicious frame of mind, "what 
you do first ? " 

" First," said Mrs. Farmer, "first, ve geds 

" My vife she vorgeds," put in Mr. Farmer. 
" First, ve goes to ped. 7hen ve geds op." 

"What we should like to know," said 
Torquil, " is what you do when you are up." 

" Oh, veil," said Mrs. Farmer, obviously 
making it all up, " ve — ve vashes ze faces and 
necks of all ze ducks and gooses." 

" We stayed at a real farm all one 
summer," said Torquil, "and there the ducks 
and geese washed themselves." 

" Not bossible ! " said Mr. Farmer. " Here 
zey are nod so glever. Zen," he continued, 
11 ve visits ze pig-houses, to see if zey haf laid 
any ecks." 

" Real pigs don't lay eggs," objected 

" I nefer said ve find any," said Mr. 
Farmer, craftily. " So, you see, my pigs are 
real pigs." 

"Do you ever feed your animals?" Irene 
asked, feeling positive that he didn't. 

"Oh, yes," he replied, "somtimes; zey 
ged som foods — yes." 

" What sort of food do you give them ? " 

His little eyes wandered till they finally 
rested on the carpet, which seemed to give 
him an idea. " I gifs zem floff," he said, 
boldly; "floflf, and— and dea-leafs." 

" Real farmyard animals wouldn't look at 
fluff or tea-leaves either !" 

" Qvide drue ! " said Mr. Farmer ; " mine 
also zey vill nod look at it." 

" How do you milk your cows?" inquired 
Irene, who wasn't going to be put off like 

"I bulls their ears," said Mrs. Farmer, 
desperately, "and bresently ze milg it com 
drickling out of their horns. To-day," she 
added, cautiously, " it is a holiday, so zey vill 
nod vork." 

"All /know is," said Irene, "that it's not 
the place people usually milk a cow." 

" But so long as you get the milk," said 

Clementina, " what does it matter ? And the 
Vol xxv.— 30. 

sheep are splendid, now aretCt they, Buffi- 

" It makes them look rather silly having 
those red neckties on," said Irene. 

" Nod any more silly as they are alretty ! " 
retorted Mr. Farmer, standing up for his 
sheep like a man. " I likes my sheeps, you 
see, to be smart and like shendlemans." 

"No gentleman ever wears a red made-up 
bow," said Torquil, who must have learnt 
this at school, " though I dare say it's right 
enough for a sheep. When do you begin 
making hay ? " 

" If you knew only a liddle apout farmings," 
said Mr. Farmer, " you vould understant that 
you cannod make hay. He crmvs" 

" Of course it grows first, and then you 
make it afterwards, with rakes," said Torquil. 
" I know, because I've helped real farmers to 
make it." 

" My hay," said Mr. Farmer, " crows all 
retty made." 

" Then you ought to have haystacks ; but 
there don't seem to be any," said Irene. 

" I dell you vy nod. Zey vas all throwed 
avay mit ze shavinks." 

" What bosh ! " said Torquil. " How could 
you throw haystacks away with shavings?" 

" I don't know, bot I exbect? said Mr. 
Farmer, at his wits 1 end, "ze haystags zey 
vould be in ze poddom of ze box mit ze 
shavinks, and so, you see, ven zey are 
throwed avay, ze haystags zey go also." 

"If you go and lose your haystacks like 
that," said Irene, "you must be a careless 
farmer ! " 

" I'm afraid he's not so careful as I 
thought he was," said Clementina, "and as 
you know so much about it, Buffidella, the 
best plan would be for you to live in the 
farm-house and show them how to farm 

" She shall lif mit us as one of our 
va mi lies,' yes," said Mr. Farmer — which was 
good natured of him, under the circum- 

"Ve gif her ze best pedrooms," added 
Mrs. Farmer. 

But Irene did not at all approve of this 
proposal. It would be even stupider living 
at the farm than in the dolls' house. " It's 
all very well to talk about giving me the best 
bedroom," she said, " but you can't help 
knowing that the farm-house is much too 
small to hold either of you ! ' 

" I dell you vy," explained Mr. Farmer ; 
" it looks schmall begause it is a long vay 
off — all houses zey do that somtimes." 

I ^MMr<nmm mit for she 



could not deny that houses have a way of 
looking small at a distance. But at last she 
saw a way out of the difficulty. " But your 
house can't be large enough for me," she 
said, " when I can sit on the roof quite 
easily ! " 

And she did — to Mr. Farmer's intense 

" We're wood ourselves, but we're descended 
from a verv old family indeed, and if we're to 
be told — -" 

"Buffidella didn't mean that, I'm sure," 
said the Queen. "Everybody can't be wax 
in this world, and whether they're china, or 
wood, or plaster, or tin, or anything else, is 


annoyance. " You do nod blay fair ! " he 
said. " My house is pig enoff for every- 
potties — brovided zey go nod too 

" He must know, Buffidella," said the 
Queen ; " it's his own house. And I par- 
ticularly want you to live here and teach 
them to farm." 

" Nobody could teach them to farm 
properly," she said, " when they've only got 
a toy farm." 

" My beautiful farm nothing but a toy ! " 
cried Clementina. "Oh, Buffidella, you 
must be mistaken." 

" But I'm not ! " said Irene. " Just look 
at it. All their animals are wood — and so 
are they." 

" Really ! " exclaimed the Ninepins, draw- 
ing themselves up. " We cannot see that 
that is any discredit." 

" Far from it," chimed in the Dutch dolls. 

of no consequence so long as they're not 
toys — like Mr. and Mrs. Farmer — trying to 
pass themselves off as real persons. That is 
a very serious offence indeed, and anyone 
found out doing it deserves to be severely 
punished ! " 

" But, your Majesty ! " protested Mr. 
Farmer, "ve nefer bass oursellefs off as 
nodings ! And I do nod beleaf ve are no 
more doys as everypotties else ! " 

" Buffidella and Chipsitop say you are, 
and they're so clever they must know best," 
said the Queen. " However, I will let you 
off this once, on condition that you behave 
better for the future." 

And she went on with the Court, leaving 
the unfortunate Mr. and Mrs. Farmer stand- 
ing by their gate, staring first at one another 
and then at their cattle, as if they were slowly 
beginning to suspect that they were not quite 
real after all. 

(To be continued.) 

by Google 

Original from 


[We shaft be giad to receive Contributions to thu section, atid to pay for mch as are accepted*] 

11 This patriotic design is composed entirely of 
honey in the comb. It was worked by the bees 
themselves and is well sealed up. Upwards of 
seventy thousand l^ees were employed on the design, 
and o wing to the season lieing: unpropitious they were 
six weeks in completing it. The actual weight of 
honey is thirty pounds, and it occupies a case measur- 
ing three feet high by two feet seven inches broad. 
It was intended to have it ready for exhibition by the 
first Coronation day f but as that event was postponed 

In our issue 
for Aprib 1902, 
we published the 
photograph of a 
card lower 
twenty stories 
high, which beat 
the record of a 
tower built by 
another reader 
some lime pre- 
viously, a ini 
which cc insisted 
of fifteen stories. 
We now repro- 
duce the photo, 
of a tuwer which 
is thus dieicribed 
by the builder 1 
**I send you a 
photograph of a 
t w e n t y - f i v e- 
story card lower 
which I have 
built* A fur the 
photo, was taken 
I added two more 
stories, muting 
twenty -seven in 
all. Is this a re- 
cord ?" -- Miss 
F, If. HoJIums, 
Dene Park, 
Ton bridge. 



" The Great Salt 
Lake, in Utah, is noted 
for l he large quantity 
of salt held in solution 
by the water, which is 
so buoyant that per- 
sons who l>aihe in it 
can float on the lop 
without difficulty, al- 
t hough they make no 
effort to keep theni- 
sel ve sup. Th e a cconv 
pa n y i n g ph ot ograph 
shows a bather in 
Great Stilt Lake actu- 
ally lying on the sur 
face, lieing immersed in 
the water but two or 
three inches deep. The 
lake contains more *n|; 
than the ocean itself, 
and for this reason 

the bees managed to finish it for the actual day, even a person who is not accustomed to swimming; 
and it figured in the decorations in our town." — or floating remains on iK surface like a block of 
Mr. R, Baldwin, Manor Park, Aylesbury, Bucks- wood,"— Mr. D. Allen WiJlev, BaUimore, 

Copyright, 1903, by G*orge N*wiUt'JliiiER&lTY OF Ml CI" 



bom as follows : Myfanwy, our eldest, on January 
2fSl t 1900 \ Nesta, on January 21st, 190 [ ■ Robert, 
cm January 2 1 si, 1902, Not only were I bey born on 
the same day, but also at the very same hour, viz., 
2 a.m. Our doctor and others will verify the state- 
ment. All the binhs look place in Crew kerne, where 
I am ac ling 1 as assistant -curate. The ph Olograph was 
taken by K G* Christopher." — The Rev. David 
Lloyd, West Lodge, CrewWrne, Somerset, 

" This is the photograph of an old oak tree which 
stands in front of the Blue Bell Inn t ftrtmipLon, 
Shmrphire, Tn Ihc hole which can he seen in (he 

lave been compelled 

*' For the pasr seven years [ . 
to lie on my hack with a very lad spinal complaint, 
resulting from I he effects of a blow received when 

Fushed hy a boy down a flight of stairs. Since then 
have been confined to my bed, and while lying 
there I have for several years amused myself w f ith 
modelling in common candle wax. I have had 
no tuition whatever, and really only took to it as a 
pastime. No tools are used in the modelling of the 
figures, the w F ax being simply warmed by ihe heat of 
the hands and ihen shaped at will. The figures are 
supported by a wire through ihe wa* t which is fastened 
to the Ijoard*" — Mr. W, E. Mahon, 13, Helena Street, 
Edge Hi] I, Liverpool. 


" Urged hy a large number of my friends, I 

write to bring to your notice a unique and very 

remarkable coincidence that has happened in my 

family. We have three children, and they were 

trunk is the nest of a pair 
of nut-hatches. They have 
nested in the same place 
every year for twenty-seven 
years, at which time they 
first drilled out the hole. 
Al>out seven years ago a 
pair of starlings took i>os- 
session of it and drove the 
nut- hatches away. The 
landlord of the inn then 
nailed a piece of lead over 
the nest and cut a hole in 
it just large enough to 
allow the original owners 
to pass ih rough t but at the 
same time preventing the 
starlings from entering, In 
less than an hour the nut- 
hatches were kick in their 
old home and have nested 
there every year since/' — 
_\lr. \\\ J. Richards, The 
'-iJflie Bell, Brompton, 




" Theodore Sehar, aged three 
years, son of K. Sehar, of Ph i la- 
ck ]phia, Pa*, and now in Los 
Angeles, is believed to be the 
strongest child in the world by 
those who know of his feats of 
strength and marvellous 
abilities as a gymnast* At 
six months of age the in- 
fant eschewed the bottle 
and l>cgan chewing 
beefsteak. In an- 
other six months 
ft h a i p J y - 
riblied mus- 
cles stood 
out tinder 
his pink 
skin, and he 
was work- 
ing daily on 
a turning - 
bar, tra- 
peze i and 
lifting ma- 
chine which 
his father 
had rigged 
up for him. 
The baby 
would trip 
his mother 
up by seiz- 
i n g her 
ankles in 
his chubby 
arms. An 
ordinary perform 
ance for him now 
is to swing on the 
trapeze, which is 
fastened to the ceiling, 
until he touches the top on 
both sides. Sometimes his 
father takes him by an arm 

or leg and swings him in the air. One day Mr. Schar 
forgot his dinner-pail when going to work by train. 
Little Theodore discovered it and carried the lunch to 
his fat her— four miles ! He Mai then two And a half 
years old."— Mr. J. L, Vou faol,U)dfc XSiiles, Cab 

4i During a recent visitation of locusts a man in Baltimore conceived 
the idea of making a souvenir of their visit by forming a number of I hem 
into an eagle. The accompanying photograph shows the eagle on his 
perch* every particle of the bird and the perch being composed of ihe 
tiodies and wings of locusts, The branch which forms the perch contains 
a number of ' buds* which are composed of the heads of the insecls, 
but the eagle itself is made up almost entirely of the wings. The work 

was done by gluing the 

material against a piece of 
canvas in the form shown 

photograph* while 
around it for a 
framework was 
fastened a row of 
the locusts. 
The repre- 
sentation is 
nearly life- 
size, the 
bird mea- 
suring over 
I h r e e f e e t 
from tip lo 
Up oF its 
wrings." — 
Mr* D . 
Allen Wil- 
ey, Balti- 


with is a 
of l straight 
lines join- 
ing thirty - seven 
point*,' The 
only circle used 
in construction 
the outer one, on 
which the thirty - seven 
points were taken* 
What are apparently 
circles, getting more definite as they decrease in size* 
are merely the straight lines forming tangents to a 
iKtmbef of J magi nary circles. The total number of 
lines is feiftJcJiptiS^oW>d esghiy - one."— Mr, R- 
ClayUMiv rWf^- Wa^i &&*&&* Kent. 




" Having selected a hat, cut a hole in the centre of 
the cover, through which projects the lens. Nestt 
construct a frame exactly fitting the inside of the hat, 
and against this place a piece of ground glass, which 
serves as a focusing screen, Having focused the 
picture, remove the glass and in its place nttach the 

dark slide, which is of ihe portfolio kind* To ensure 
absolute darkness it is advisable to bind the edges of 
the frame with black velvet, also that part of 1 he- 
frame against which the dark slide resls* The stand 
represented in the photograph is a stool which closes 
into a walking-stick, nnd at the top is attached an 
oval - shaped piece of 
metal in which tht 
camera is placed, 
which, by means of sin 
elastic hand, can be 
raised or lowered as 
required. The stool 
serves as a seat for the 
photographer whilst 
focusing. Another 
method for a tripod- 
st:i.nd is to obi aiu a 
walking-stick and at- 
tach to it two thin iron 
rods. This is equally 
successful. The original 
constructor of this ex- 
traordinary camera is 
Mr. Leon Muuiuys.* 5 — 
Miss Winifred Hales, 
I lol m wood , Coom be 
Road, Croydon. 

"At first sight one 
would suppose this 
photograph to represent 
a bit of dried twig, but 
in reality it is an insect, 
the Bacteria Frazil is, 
commonly called 

' Walking stick/ inhabiting the W^l Indies. These 
insects may be found measuring from two to twelve 
inches long, and^ strangely enough, they assume the 
exact colour of the herbage they are found on. Unfor- 
tunately, the photograph shows the subject minus a 
leg, which accident occurred in posing the restive 
little creature." — Miss E. F. Shaw, Mount Pleasant, 

Jamaica. — 

" This is the only residence, other than the keepers 1 
lodges, actually extant in Epping Forest, It is con- 
structed of a framework 
of branches of trees 
filled in with bracken, 
and stands Itoncath a 
holly -bush. The builder 
and resident is a 
seventy - 1 wo ■ year - old 
misanthrope, who is 
permitted to continue 
his hermit life while he 
does not constitute him- 
self a nuisance. Me has 
led this lonely life over 
two years, but meditate* 
an early return to social 
habitations once more, 
where his exigence will 
he more in keeping 
with the inner craving 
that has revolted 
against everlasting ' tea 
and no cooked meaU 1 
The door is seen on the 
left of the picture at the 
foot of the holly-bush. 
\\hen retiring to rest 
the hermit enters his 
dwelling and fastens the 
door after him from the 
inside/'— Mr. John P. 
Wink worth, 290, Bur-- 



"This novelty is an ingenious trick, which may be 
interesting and also amusing to many of TffI SrKAND 
readers. Here is a No. 7 needle threaded with nine 
pieces of No. 50 cotton, and a No. 1 needle with no 
fewer than twenty-six threads of the same cotton passed 

through its eye. The needles are ordinary egg- eyed 
ones* This is how the trick is done. Thread the 
needle in the ordinary way an in Fig* I. A is the 
shorter end of the cotton when the needle is threaded 
Pass the needle through the strands of the shorter end 
as in Fig. 2. Draw the needle right through and a 
loop will be formed as in Fig. 3. Now pull the hiop 
round and round through the eye in ihe direction of 
the arrows. It will then be seen that each circuit 

brings an additional 1 bread through. Continue this 
until the eye is packed, then cut through the several 
loojis at B (Fig. 4), taking care to destroy the point 
where the one cotton is threaded through the other. 
N.B. — Let the loop in Fig, 3 1>e about three inches 
in circumference.^ — Mr. James Crad clock Uinluii, 
Spring Bank, Lancaster, 

"The suit which I am seen wearing in the 
adjoining photograph, taken by W. S. Wyles, is 
entirely made of * Wild Woodbine* cigarette packets. 
I have used some lh;>u£ands of packets in the making, 
and there are a goodly numL>er scattered about, not 
to speak of those in the background." — Mr* George 
Kerr, 84, Erleigh Road, Heading. 

" This photograph explains itself* A man, trying 
to catch small fish in a m:t in shallow waler, is him- 
self bitten by a crab, which seizes on his big toe and 
makes him jump and yelk The picture was taken by 
Mr. Qui on Miller, of Fast on, Maryland." — Mr. 
Arthur Inkersley, San Francisco* 



11 1 beg to sent! you a photo, of what appears to be 
a long-necked freak which may interest some of your 
photographic readers. The measurements of the 
collar sire fifteen inches high and fifteen inches r*und. 
The w ay it was done is so obvious that it needs no 
explanation, 1 ' — Mr, Edward W. Bcesly, 34, Park 
Street, Bristol. 

"Whilst travelling through Switzerland I stayed 
at the small town of Nyon f on the I^ike of Geneva. 
The enclosed photograph which I took shows a 
cottage on the outskirts cf this town, and I think 
that it is quite a unique and original way of having 
the name on one's house. As may l>e seen bom the 
photo, all the letters are trained from one root of 
white jessamine.'* — Mr. A. Leslie Holland t 14, Price's 
Avenue, CliftonvilTe, Margate* 

"This is a photo, of the seismograph, which 
registers earthquakes. It is made of wood nn a 
level cement platform, on which is placet! a section 
of smoked glass; a heavy weight is hung to a string 
which passes through a. small hole in the top Ur; and 
at the end of the string a fine needle is atiached. As 
the earth moves the smoked glass t>eneaih the needle 
traces lines on the glass. This instrument was copied 
for use in Japan by the Japanese expert who visited 
this place after the great earthquake of 1897."— Mis* 
May Welsh, c.o. Post master- General of Assam, India, 

(""rw^nL'' Original from 



[Set page 2450 * 

f^ru"*nL" fc Original from 


The Strand Magazine. 

Vol. xxv. 

MARCH. 1903. 

No. 147 

The Adventures of Etienne Gerard. 

By A. Conan Doyle. 

HAVE told you, ray friends, 
how I triumphed over the 
English at the fox-hunt when I 
pursued the animal so fiercely 
that even the herd of trained 
dogs was unable to keep up, 
and alone with my own hand I put him to 
the sword. Perhaps I have said too much of 
the matter, but there is a thrill in the 
triumphs of sport which even warfare can- 
not give, for in warfare you share your 
successes with your regiment and your 
army, but in sport it is you yourself 
unaided who have won the laurels. It 
is an advantage which the English have 
over us that in all classes they take great 
interest in every form of sport. It may be 
that they are richer than we, or it may be 
that they are more idle ; but I was surprised 
when I was a prisoner in that country to 
observe how widespread was this feeling, and 
how much it filled the minds and the lives of 
the people. A horse that will run, a cock 
that will fight, a dog that will kill rats, a man 
that will box — they would turn away from the 
Emperor in all his glory in order to look 
upon any of these. 

I could tell you many stories of English 
sport, for I saw much of it during the time 
that I was the guest of Lord Rufton, after 
the order for my exchange had come to 
England. There were months before 
I could be sent back to France, and 
during that time I stayed with this 
good Lord Rufton at his beautiful house 
of High Combe, which is at the northern 
end of Dartmoor. He had ridden with 
the police when they had pursued me 
from Princetown, and he had felt towards 
me when I was overtaken as I would myself 

Vol. xxv.— 31 h Copyright, 


have felt had I, in my own country, seen a 
brave and debonair soldier without a friend 
to help him. In a word he took me to his 
house, clad me, fed me, and treated me as if 
he had been my brother. I will say this of 
the English, that they were always generous 
enemies, and very good people with whom 
to fight In the Peninsula the Spanish out- 
posts would present their muskets at ours, but 
the British their brandy flasks. And of all 
these generous men there was none who was 
the equal of this admirable milord, who held 
out so warm a hand to an enemy in distress. 
Ah ! what thoughts of sport it brings back 
to me, the very name of High Combe ! I can 
see it now, the long, low brick house, warm 
and ruddy, with white plaster pillars before 
the door. He was a great sportsman this 
Lord Rufton, and all who were about him 
were of the same sort. But you will be 
pleased to hear that there were few things in 
which I could not hold my own, and in some 
I excelled. Behind the house was a wood in 
which pheasants were reared, and it was Lord 
Rufton's joy to kill these birds, which was 
done by sending in men to drive them out 
while he and his friends stood outside and 
shot them as they passed. For my part I 
was more crafty, for I studied the habits of 
the bird, and stealing out in the evening I 
was able to kill a number of them as they 
roosted in the trees. Hardly a single shot 
was wasted, but the keeper was attracted 
by the sound of the firing, and he implored 
me in his rough English fashion to spare 
those that were left. That night I was 
able to place twelve birds as a surprise upon 
Lord Rufton's supper table, and he laughed 
until he cried, so overjoyed was he to see 
them. " Gad, Gerard, you'll be the death of 

by George Ne-vnes, Limited. 




me yet ! ?1 he cried Often he said the same 
things Tor at every turn I amazed him by the 
way in which I entered into the sports of the 

There is a game called cricket which they 
play in the summer, and this also I learned. 
Rudd, the head gardener, was a famous 
player of cricket, and so was Lord Rufton 
himself. Before the house was a lawn, and 
here it was that Rudd taught me the 
game. It is a hrave pastime, a game for 
soldiers, for each tries to strike the other 
with the ball, and it is but a small stick 
with which you may ward it off. Three 
sticks behind show the spot beyond which 
you may not retreat. I can tell you that it 
is no game for children, and I will confess 
that, in spite of my nine campaigns, I felt 
myself turn pale when first the ball flashed 
past me, So swift was it that I had not time 
to raise my stick to ward it off, but by 
goad fortune it missed me and knocked 
down the wooden pins which marked the 
boundary. It was for Rudd then to <defend 
himself and for me to attack, When I was 
a boy in Gascony I learned to throw both 
far and straight, so that I made sure that I 
could hit this gallant Englishman, With a 

shout I rushed forward and hurled the ball 
at him. It flew as swift as a bullet towards his 
ribs, but without a word he swung his staff 
and the hall rose a surprising distance in the 
air, Lord Rufton clapped his hands and 
cheered. Again the ball was brought to me, 
and again it was for me to throw. This time 
it Hew past his head, and it seemed to me 
that it was his turn to look pale. But he 
was a brave man this gardener, and again he 
faced me. Ah, my friends, the hour of my 
triumph had come ! It was a red waistcoat 
that he wore, and at this I hurled the ball 
You would have said that I was a gunner, not 
a hussar, for never was so straight an aim. 
With a despairing cry — the cry of the 
brave man who is beaten— he fell upon the 
wooden pegs behind him, and they all rolled 
upon the ground together. He was cruel, 
this Englfsh milord, and he laughed so that 
he could not come to the aid of his servant, 
It was for me, the victor, to rush forwards 
to embrace this intrepid player, and to raise 
him to his feet with words of praise, and 
encouragement, and hope. He was in pain 
and could not stand erect, yet the honest 
fellow confessed that there was no accident 
in my victory, " He did it a purpose ! He 


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Original from 


2 45 

did it a-purpose ! " Again and again he said 
it Yes, it is a great game this cricket, and 
I would gladly have ventured upon it again 
but Lord Rufton and Rudd said that it was 
late in the season, and so they would play 
no more. 

How foolish of me, the old broken man, to 
dwell upon these successes, and yet I will 
confess that my age has been very much 
soothed and comforted by the memory of the 
women who have loved me and the men 
whom I have overcome. It is pleasant to think 
that five years afterwards, when Lord Rufton 
came to Paris after the peace, he was able to 
assure me that my name was still a famous 
one in the North of Devonshire for the fine 
exploits that I had performed. Especially, 
he said, that they still talked over my boxing 
match with the Honourable Baldock. It 
came about in this way. Of an evening 
many sportsmen would assemble at the house 
of Lord Rufton, where they would drink 
much wine, make wild bets, and talk of 
their horses and their foxes. How well I 
remember those strange creatures. Sir Har- 
rington, Jack Lupton, of Barnstaple, Colonel 
Addison, Johnny Miller, Lord Sadler, and 
my enemy the Honourable Baldock. They 
were of the same stamp all of them, drinkers, 
madcaps, fighters, gamblers, full of strange 
caprices and extraordinary whims. Yet they 
were kindly fellows in their rough fashion, 
save only this Baldock, a fat man who prided 
himself on his skill at the box-fight. It was 
he who, by his laughter against the French 
because they were ignorant of sport, caused 
me to challenge him in the very sport at 
which he excelled. You will say that it 
was foolish, my friends, but the decanter had 
passed many times, and the blood of youth 
ran hot in my veins. I would fight him, this 
boaster ; I would show him that if we had not 
skill at least we -had courage. Lord Rufton 
would not allow it. I insisted. The others 
cheered me on and slapped me on the back. 
"No, dash it, Baldock, he's our guest," said 
Rufton. " It's his own doing," the other 
answered. " Look here, Rufton, they can't 
hurt each other if they wear the mawleys," 
cried Lord Sadler. And so it was agreed. 

What the mawleys were I did not know, 
but presently they brought out four great 
puddings of leather, not unlike a fencing 
glove, but larger. With these our hands 
were covered after we had stripped ourselves 
of our coats and our waistcoats. Then the 
table, with the glasses and decanters, was 
pushed into the corner of the room, and 
behold us, face to face ! Lord Sadler sat in 

Digitized by G< 

the arm-chair with a watch in his open hand. 
" Time ! " said he. 

I will confess to you, my friends, that I 
felt at that moment a tremor such as none of 
my many duels have ever given me. With 
sword or pistol I am at home, but here I 
only understood that I must struggle with 
this fat Englishman and do what I could, in 
spite of these great puddings upon my hands, 
to overcome him. And at the very outset I 
was disarmed of the best weapon that was 
left to me. " Mind, Gerard, no kicking ! " 
said Lord Rufton in my ear. I had only a 
pair of thin dancing slippers, and yet the man 
was fat, and a few well-directed kicks might 
have left me the victor. But there is an 
etiquette just as there is in fencing, and I 
refrained. I looked at this Englishman and 
I wondered how I should attack him. His 
ears were large and prominent. Could I 
seize them I might drag him to the ground. 
I rushed in, but I was betrayed by this 
flabby glove, and twice I lost my hold. He 
struck me, but I cared little for his blows, 
and again I seized him by the ear. He fell, 
and I rolled upon him and thumped his head 
upon the ground. How they cheered and 
laughed, these gallant Englishmen, and how 
they clapped me on the back ! 

"Even money on the Frenchman," cried 
Lord Sadler. 

" He fights foul," cried my enemy, rubbing 
his crimson ears. " He savaged me on the 

" You must take your chance of that," 
said Lord Rufton, coldly. 

"Time," cried Lord Sadler, and once 
again we advanced to the assault. 

He was flushed, and his small eyes were 
as vicious as those of a bulldog. There was 
hatred on his face. For my part I carried 
myself lightly and gaily. A French gentle- 
man fights but he does not hate. I drew myself 
up before him, and I bowed as I have done 
in the duello. There can be grace and 
courtesy as well as defiance in a bow ; I put 
all three into this one, with a touch of ridicule 
in the shrug which accompanied it. It was 
at this moment that he struck me. The 
room spun round me. I fell upon my back. 
But in an instant I was on my feet again and 
had rushed to a close combat. His ear, his 
hair, his nose, I seized them each in turn. 
Once again the mad joy of the battle was in 
my veins. The old cry of triumph rose to 
my lips. " Vive TEmpefeur ! " I yelled as I 
drove my head into his stomach. He 
threw his arm round my neck, and hold- 
ing me with one iiand he struck me with 

I a I I I _' I 1 1 




the other. I buried my teeth in his arm, 
and he shouted with pain. "Call him off, 
Rtifton'" he screamed* "Call him off, 
man ! He's worrying me!" They dragged 
me away from him. Can I ever forget it ?— 

for the men were rude and rough and 
coarse, with boorish habits and few accom- 
plishments, while the women were the most 
lovely and tender that I have ever known. 
We became great friends, the Lady Jane and 


the laughter, the cheering, the congratula- 
tions ! Even my enemy bore me no ill will, 
for he shook me by the hand. For my part 
1 embraced him on each cheek, Five years, 
afterwards I learned from Lord Rufton that 
my noble bearing upon that evening was 
still fresh in the memory of my English 

It is not* however, of my own exploits in 
sport that I wish to speak to you to-night, 
but it is of ihe Lady Jane Dacre and the 
strange adventure of which she was the 
cause. [<ady Jane Dacre was Lord Ruftorrs 
sister and the lady of his household. I fear 
that until I came it was lonely for her, since 
she was a beautiful and refined woman with 
nothing in common with those who were 
about her, Indeed, this might he said of 
many women in the England of those days, 

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I, for it was not possible for me to drink 
three bottles of port after dinner like those 
Devonshire gentlemen, and. so I would seek 
refuge in her drawing-room, where evening 
after evening she would play the harpsichord 
and I would sing the songs of my own land. 
In those peaceful moments I would find a 
refuge from the misery which filled me, when 
I reflected that my regiment was left in the 
front of the enemy without the chief whom 
they had learned to love and to follow. 
Indeed, I could have torn my hair when I 
read in the English papers of the fine fight- 
ing which was going on in l\)ii arid on 
the frontiers of Spain, all of which I had 
missed through my misfortune in falling into 
the bands of Milord Wellington. 

From what I have told you of the Lady 
Jane you will have guessed what occurred, my 

Original from 



friends. Etienne Gerard is thrown into the 
company of a young and beautiful woman. 
What must it mean for him ? What must it 
mean for her ? It was not for me, the guest, 
the captive, to make love to the sister of my 
host. But I was reserved. I was discreet. 
I tried to curb my own emotions and to dis- 
courage hers. For my own part I fear that I 
betrayed myself, for the eye becomes more 
eloquent when the tongue is silent. Every 
quiver of my fingers as I turned over her 
music-sheets told her my secret. But she — 
she was admirable. It is in these matters 
that women have a genius for deception. If 
I had not penetrated her secret I should 
often have thought that she forgot even that 
I was in the house. For hours she would sit 
lost in a sweet melancholy, while I admired 
her pale face and her curls in the lamp-light, 
and thrilled within me to think that I had 
moved her so deeply. Then at last I would 
speak, and she would start in her chair and 
stare at me with the most admirable pretence 
of being surprised to find me in the room. 
Ah ! how I longed to hurl myself suddenly 
at her feet, to kiss her white hand, to assure 
her that I had surprised her secret and that 
1 would not abuse her confidence. But, no, 
I was not her equal, and I was under her 
roof as a castaway enemy. My lips were 
sealed. I endeavoured to imitate her own 
wonderful affectation of indifference, but, as 
you may think, I was eagerly alert for any 
opportunity of serving her. 

One morning Lady Jane had driven in her 
phaeton to Okehampton, and I strolled along 
the road which led to that place in the hope 
that I might meet her on her return. It was 
the early winter, and banks of fading fern 
sloped down to the winding road. It is a 
bleak place this Dartmoor, wild and rocky — 
a country of wind and mist. I felt as I 
walked that it is no wonder Englishmen 
should suffer from the spleen. My own 
heart was heavy within me, and I sat upon a 
rock by the wayside looking out on the 
dreary view with my thoughts full of trouble 
and foreboding. Suddenly, however, as I 
glanced down the road I saw a sight which 
drove everything else from my mind, and 
caused me to leap to my feet with a cry of 
astonishment and anger. 

Down the curve of the road a phaeton was 
coming, the pony tearing along at full gallop. 
Within was the very lady whom I had come 
to meet. She lashed at the pony like one 
who endeavours to escape from some pressing 
danger, glancing ever backwards over her 
shoulder. The bend of the road concealed 

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from me what it was that had alarmed her, 
and I ran forward not knowing what to 
expect. The next instant I saw the pursuer, 
and my amazement was increased at the 
sight. It was a gentleman in the red coat 
of an English fox-hunter, mounted on a 
great grey horse. He was galloping as 
if in a race, and the long stride of the 
splendid creature beneath him soon brought 
him up to the lady's flying carriage. I 
saw him stoop and seize the reins of the 
pony, so as to bring it to a halt The 
next instant he was deep in talk with the 
lady, he bending forward in his saddle and 
speaking eagerly, she shrinking away from 
him as if she feared and loathed him. 

You may think, my dear friends, that this 
was not a sight at which I could calmly gaze. 
How my heart '.hrilled within me to think 
that a chance should have been given to 
me to serve the Lady Jane ! I ran— oh, 
good Lord, how I ran ! At last, breathless, 
speechless, I reached the phaeton. The man 
glanced up at me with his blue English eyes, 
but so deep was he in his talk that he paid 
no heed to me, nor did the lady say a word. 
She still leaned back, her beautful pale face 
gazing up at him. He was a good-looking 
fellow — tall, and strong, and brown ; a pang 
of jealousy seized me as I looked at him. 
He was talking low and fast, as the English 
do when they are i-n earnest 

" I tell you, Jinny, it's you and only you 
that I love," said he. " Don't bear malice, 
Jinny. Let bygones be bygones. Come 
now, say it's all over." 

" No, never, George, never ! " she cried. 

A dusky red suffused his handsome face. 
The man was furious. 

" Why can't you forgive me, Jinny ?" 

" I can't forget the past." 

" By George, you must ! I've asked enough. 
It's time to order now\ I'll have my rights. 
D'ye hear ? " His hand closed upon her 

At last my breath had returned to me. 

" Madame," I said, as I raised my hat, 
"do I intrude, or is there any possible way 
in which I can be of service to you ? " 

But neither of them minded me any more 
than if I had been a fly who buzzed between 
them. Their eyes were locked together. 

" I'll have my rights, I tell you. I've 
waited long enough." 

" There's no use bullying, George." 

" Do you give in ? " 

" No, never ! " 

" Is that your final answer? " 

"Yes, it is." 

Original from * 




He gave a bitter curse and threw down 
her hand. 

" All right, my lady, we'll see about 
this. 1 ' 

14 Excuse me, sir," said I, with dignity. 

" Oh, go to blazes ! " he cried, turning on 

" you must give me your word as a soldier 
and a gentleman that this matter goes no 
farther, and also that you will say nothing to 
my brother about what you have seen, 
Promise me ! " 
"If I must." 



me with his furious face. The next instant 
h^ had spurred his horse and was galloping 
down the road once more. 

Lady Jane gazed after him until he was 
out of sight, and I was surprised to see that 
her face wore a smile and not a frown. 
Then she turned to me and held out her 

" You are very kind, Colonel Gerard. 
You meant well, I am sure," 

" Madame," said I, " if you can oblige me 
with the gentleman's name and address I 
will arrange that he shall never trouble you 

" No scandal, I beg of you," she cried. 

" Madame, I could not so far forget my- 
self. Rest assured that no lady's name would 
ever be mentioned by me in the course of 
such an incident. In bidding me to $a to 
blazes this gentleman has relieved me from 
the embarrassment of having to invent a 
cause of quarrel/' 

14 Colonel Gerard," said the lady, earnestly, 

by tj 



" I hold you to your word. Now drive 
with me to High Combe, and I will explain 
as we go." 

The first words of her explanation went 
into me like a sabre point, 

"That gentleman," said she, "is my hus- 

"Your husband !" 

"You must have known that I was 
married." She seemed surprised at my 

M I did not know," 

" This is Lord (ieorye 
been married two years. 
to tell you how he wronged me. I left him 
and sought a refuge under my brother's 
roof, Up till to-day he has left me there 
unmolested. What I must above all things 
avoid is the chance of a duel betwixt my 
husband and my brother It is horrible to 
think of. For this reason Lord Rufton must 
know nothing of this chance meeting of 
to -day/' 

Original from 

Pa ere. We have 
There is no need 



" If my pistol could free you from this 
annoyance " 

" No, no, it is not to be thought of. 
Remember your promise, Colonel Gerard 
And not a word at High Combe of what you 
have seen ! " 

Her husband ! I had pictured in my mind 
that she was a young widow. This brown- 
faced brute with his 4< go to blazes " was the 
husband of this tender dove of a woman. 
Oh, if she would but allow me to free her 
from so odious an encumbrance ! There is 
no divorce so quick and certain as that which 
I could give her. But a promise is a promise, 
and I kept it to the letter. My mouth was 
sealed. In a week I was to be sent back 
from Plymouth to St. Malo, and it seemed 
to me that I might never hear the sequel of 
the story. And yet it was destined that it 
should have a sequel and that I should play 
a very pleasing and honourable part in it. 

It was only three days after the event 
which I have described when Lord Ruftd*! 
burst hurriedly into my room. His face was 
pale and his manner that of a man in 
extreme agitation. 

" Gerard/' he cried, " have you seen Lady 
Jane Dacre ? " 

I had seen her after breakfast and it was 
now midday. 

" By Heaven, there's villainy here ! " cried 
my poor friend, rushing about like a mad- 
man. "The bailiff has been up to say that a 
chaise and pair were seen driving full split 
down the Tavistock Road. The blacksmith 
heard. a woman scream as it passed his forge. 
Jane has disappeared. By the Lord, I 
believe that she has been kidnapped by this 
villain Dacre." He rang the bell furiously. 
" Two horses this instant ! " he cried. 
" Colonel Gerard, your pistols ! Jane comes 
back with me this night from Gravel Hanger 
or there will be a new master in High Combe 

Behold us then within half an hour, like 
two knight-errants of old, riding forth to the 
rescue of this lady in distress. It was near 
Tavistock that Lord Dacre lived, and at every 
house and toll-gate along the road we heard 
the news of the flying post-chaise in front of us, 
so there could be no doubt whither they were 
bound. As we rode Lord Ruf ton told me 
of the man whom we were pursuing. His 
name, it seems, was a household word through- 
out all England for every sort of mischief. 
Wine, women, dice, cards, racing — in all forms 
of debauchery he had earned for himself a 

terrible name. He was of an old and noble 
Vol, x*v.-32 

family, and it had been hoped that he had 
sowed his wild oats when he married the 
beautiful Lady Jane Rufton. For some 
months he had indeed behaved well, and 
then he had wounded her feelings in their 
most tender part by some unworthy liaison. 
She had fled from his house and taken refuge 
with her brother, from whose care she had 
now been dragged once more, against her 
will. I ask you if two men could have had 
a fairer errand than that upon which Lord 
Rufton and myself were riding? 

" That's Gravel Hanger," he cried at last, 
pointing with his crop, and there on the 
green side of a hill was an old brick and 
timber building as beautiful as only an 
English country house can be. " There's 
an inn by the park-gate, and there we shall 
leave our horses," he added. 

For my own part it seemed to me that 
with so just a cause we should have done 
best to ride boldly up to his door and 
summon him to surrender the lady. But 
there I was wrong. For the one thing which 
every Englishman fears is the law. He 
makes it himself, and when he has once 
made it it becomes a terrible tyrant before 
whom the bravest quails. He will smile at 
breaking his neck, but he will turn pale at 
breaking the law. It seems, then, from 
what Lord Rufton told me as we walked 
through the park, that we were on the 
wrong side of the law in this matter. 
Lord Dacre was in the right in carry- 
ing off his wife, since she did indeed 
belong to him, and our own position now 
was nothing better than that of burglars and 
trespassers. It was not for burglars to 
openly approach the front door. We could 
take the lady by force or by craft, but we 
could not take her by right, for the law was 
against us. This was what my friend ex- 
plained to me as we crept up towards the 
shelter of a shrubbery which was close to the 
windows of the house. Thence we could 
examine this fortress, see whether we could 
effect a lodgment in it, and, above all, try 
to establish some communication with the 
beautiful prisoner inside. 

There we were, then, in the shrubbery, 
Lord Rufton and I, each with a pistol in the 
pockets of our riding coats, and with the 
most resolute determination in our hearts 
that we should not return without the lady. 
Eagerly we scanned every window of the 
wide-spread house. Not a sign could we see 
of the prisoner or of anyone else ; but on 
the gravel drive outside the door were the 
deep - sunk marks, of the wheels of the 




chaise. There was no doubt that they had 
arrived. Crouching among the laurel bushes 
we held a whispered council of war, but a 
singular interruption brought it to an end. 

Out of the door of the house there 
stepped a tall, flaxen - haired man, such a 
figure as one would choose for the flank of a 
Grenadier company. As he turned his brown 
face and his blue eyes towards us I recog- 
nised Lord Dacre* With long strides he 
came down the gravel path straight for the 
spot where we lay, 

"Come out, Ned!" he shouted; " you'll 
have the gamekeeper putting a charge of shot 
into you. Come out, man, and don't skulk 
behind the bushes/ 1 

It was not a very heroic situation for us. 

cross the park and go to ground in the 
shrubbery. Come in, man, jand let us have 
all the cards on the table," 

He seemed master of the situation, this 
handsome giant of a man, standing at his 
ease on his own ground while we slunk out 
of our hiding-place. Lord Rufton had said 
not a wordj but I saw by his darkened brow 
and his sombre eyes that the storm was 
gathering. Lord Dacre led the way into the 
house, and we followed close at his heels. 
He ushered us himself into an oak-panelled 
sitting-room, closing the door behind us. 
Then he looked me up and down with 
insolent eyes* 

"Look here, Ned," said he, "time was 
when an English family could settle their 

halloa! its thf frenchman, is it? smd he. 

My poor friend rone with a crimson face. 
I sprang to my feet also and bowed with 
such dignity as I could muster. 

*' Halloa! it's the Frenchman, is it?" said 
he, without returning my how*. ** Pve got a 
crow to pluck with him already. As to you, 
Ned, I knew yon won Id be hot on our scent, 
and sq I was looking out for you- I saw you 

Digitized by L.< 

own affairs in their own way. What has 
this foreign fellow got to do with your sister 
and my wife ? J 

l4 Sir, M said I, rt permit me to point out to 
you that this is not a case merely of a sister 
or a wife, but that I am the friend of ihe lady 
in question, and that I have the privilege 
which every gentleman possesses of protect- 




ing a woman against brutality. It is only by 
a gesture that I can show you what I think of 
you," I had my riding gtove in my hand, 
and I flicked him across the face with it 
He drew back with a bitter smile and his 
eyes were as hard as flint. 

" So youVe brought your bully with you, 
Ned ? " said he. " You might at least have 
done your fighting yourself* if it must come 
to a fight." 

"So I will," cried Lord Rufton. "Here 
and now," 

"When IVe killed this swaggering French- 
man," said Lord Dacre. He stepped to a 
side table and opened a brass-bound case. 
" By Gad/' said he, " either that man or I go 
out of this room feet foremost. I meant well 
by you, Ned ; I did, by George, but I'll shoot 
this led -captain of yours as sure as my name's 
George Dae re. Take your choice of pistols, 
sir, and shoot across this- table. The barkers 

I could but kill this big milord, then the 
whole question would be settled for ever in 
the best way, Lord Rufton did not want 
him. lady Jane did not want him. There- 
fore, I, Etienne Gerard, their friend, would 
pay the debt of gratitude which I owed 
them by freeing them of this encumbrance. 
But, indeed, there was no choice in the 
matter, for Lord Dae re was as eager to put 
a bullet into me as I could be to do the 
same service to him. In vain Lord Rufton 
argued and scolded. The affair must 

"Well if you must fight my guest instead 
of myself, let it be to-morrow morning with 
two witnesses," he cried, at last ; " this is 
sheer murder across the table*" 

" But it suits my humour, Ned," said Lord 

"And mine, sir," said I. 

"Then ITI have nothing to do with it," 

11 ins bi;li,et wuL'LU mave nj_oivN r qut »iv BHAtss hah i ukrn erect. 

are loaded. Aim straight and kill me if 
you can, for by the Lord, if you don't, you're 

In vain Lord Rufton tried to take the 
quarrel upon himself. Two things were 
clear in my mind —one that the Lndy Jane 
had feared above all things that her husband 
and brother should fight, the other tl^at if 

other u 


cried Lord Rufton, u I tell you, George, if 
you shoot Colonel Gerard under these cir- 
cumstances you'll find yourself in the dock 
instead of on the bench* I wont act as 
second, and that's flat." 

"Sir/* said I, " I am jjcrfcctly prepared to 
proceed without a second." \ 

"That w@j-|tjj<jift| f^fo against the law/' 


2 5 2 


cried Lord Dacre. " Come, Ned, don't be a 
fool. You see we mean to fight. Hang it, 
man, all I want you to do is to drop a 

" I'll take no part in it" 

"Then I must find someone who will," 
said Lord Dacre. He threw a cloth over the 
pistols, which lay upon the table, and he rang 
the bell. A footman entered. " Ask Colonel 
Berkeley if he will step this way. You will 
find him in the billiard-room." 

A moment later there entered a tall thin 
Englishman with a great moustache, which 
was a rare thing amid that clean-shaven race. 
I have henrd since that they were worn only 
by the Guards and the Hussars. This 
Colonel Berkeley was a guardsman. He 
seemed a strange, tired, languid, drawling 
creature with a long black cigar thrusting out, 
like a pole from a bush, amidst that immense 
moustache. He looked from one to the 
other of us with true English phlegm, and he 
betrayed not the slightest surprise when he 
was told our intention. 

" Quite so," said he ; " quite so." 

" I refuse to act, Colohel Berkeley," cried 
Lord Rufton. " Remember, this duel cannot 
proceed without you, and I hold you person- 
ally responsible for anything that happens." 

This Colonel Berkeley appeared to be an 
authority upon the question, for he removed 
the cigar from his mouth and he laid down 
the law in his strange, drawling voice. 

"The circumstances are unusual but not 
irregular, Lord Rufton," said he. " This 
gentleman has given a blow and this other 
gentleman has received it. That is a clear 
issue. Time and conditions depend upon 
the person who demands satisfaction. Very 
good. He claims it here and now, across 
the table. He is acting within his rights. I 
am prepared to accept the responsibility." 

There was nothing more to be said. Lord 
Rufton sat moodily in the corner with his 
brows drawn down and his hands thrust 
deep into the pockets of his riding breeches. 
Colonel Berkeley examined the two pistols 
and laid them both in the centre of the table. 
Lord Dacre was at one end and I at the 
other, with eight feet of shining mahogany 
between us. On the hearth-rug, with his 
back to the fire, stood the tall colonel, his 
handkerchief in his left hand, his cigar 
between two fingers of his right. 

" When I drop the handkerchief," said he, 
" you will pick up your pistols and you will 
fire at your own convenience. Are you 
ready ? " 

Yes" w e cried. 

by Google 

- His hand opened and the handkerchief 
fell. I bent swiftly forward and seized a 
pistol, but the table, as 1 have said, was 
eight feet across, and it was easier for this 
long-armed milord to reach the pistols than it 
was for me. I had not yet drawn myself 
straight before he fired, and to this it was 
that I owe my life. His bullet would have 
blown out my brains had I been erect. As 
it was it whistled through my curls. At the 
same instant, just as I threw up my own 
pistol to fire, the door flew open and a pair 
of arms were thrown round me. It was the 
beautiful, flushed, frantic face of Lady Jane 
which looked up into mine. 

" You sha'n't fire ! Colonel Gerard, for 
my sake don't fire," she cried. "It is a 
mistake, I tell you, a mistake, a mistake ! 
He is the best and dearest of husbands. 
Never again shall I leave his side." Her 
hands slid down my arm and closed upon 
my pistol. 

"Jane, Jane," cried Lord Rufton ; "come 
with me. You should not be here. Come 

" It is all confoundedly irregular," said 
Colonel Berkeley. 

"Colonel Gerard, you won't fire, will you? 
My heart would break if he were hurt." 

" Hang it all, Jinny, give the fellow fair 
play," cried Lord Dacre. " He stood my fire 
like a man, and I won't see him interfered 
with. Whatever happens I can't get worse 
than I deserve." 

But already there had passed between me 
and the lady a quick glance of the eyes which 
told her everything. Her hands slipped 
from my arm. " I leave my husband's life 
and my own happiness to Colonel Gerard," 
said she. 

How well she knew me, this admirable 
woman ! I stood for an instant irresolute, 
with the pistol cocked in my hand. My 
antagonist faced me bravely, with no blench- 
ing of his sunburnt face and no flinching of 
his bold, blue eyes. 

" Come, come, sir, take your shot ! " cried 
the colonel from the mat. 

" Let us have it, then," said Lord Dacre. 

I would, at least, show them how com- 
pletely his life was at the mercy of my skill. 
So much I owed to my own self-respect. I 
glanced round for a mark. The colonel was 
looking towards my antagonist, expecting to 
see him drop. His face was sideways to me, 
his long cigar projecting from his lips with 
an inch of ash at the end of it. Quick as a 
flash I raised my pistol and fired. 

" rermit^j^jt^afrfi^^-pur ash, sir," said I, 




and I bowed with a grace which is unknown 
among these islanders. 

I am convinced that the fault lay with the 
pistol and not with my aim. I could hardly 
believe my own eyes when I saw that I had 

"Sir," said I, "I freely offer you my 
apologies for this unhappy incident I felt 
that if I did not discharge my pistol Lord 
Caere's honour might feel hurt, and yet it 
was quite impossible for me, after hearing 


snapped off the cigar within half an inch of 
his lips. He stood staring at me with the 
ragged stub of the cigar- end sticking out 
from his singed moustache. 1 can see him 
now with his foolish, angry eyes and his long, 
thirij puzzled face. Then he began to talk. 
I have always said that the English are not 
really a phlegmatic or a taciturn nation if 
you stir them out of their groove. No one 
could have talked in a more animated way 
than this colonel. Lady Jane put her hands 
over her ears. 

"Come, come, Colonel Berkeley," said 
Lord Dacre, sternly, "you forget yourself. 
There is a lady in the room." 

The colonel gave a stiff bow. 

"If Lady Dacre will kindly leave the 
room," said he, " I will be able to tell this 
infernal little Frenchman what I think of him 
and his monkey tricks." 

I was splendid at that moment, for I 
ignored the words that he had said and 
remembered only the extreme provocation. 

Digitized by GOOglC 

what this lady had said, to aim it at her 
husband. I looked round for a mark, there- 
fore, and I had the extreme misfortune to 
blow your cigar out of your mouth when my 
intention had merely been to snuff the ash. 
I was betrayed by my pistol. This is my 
explanation, sir, and if after listening to my 
apologies you still feel that 1 owe you satis- 
faction, I need not say that it is a request 
which I am unable to refuse," 

It was certainly a charming attitude which 
I had assumed, and it won the hearts of all 
of them. Lord I>aere stepped forward and 
wrung me by the hand. " By George, sir," 
said he, " I never thought to feel towards a 
Frenchman as 1 do to yon, You're a m:in 
and a gentleman, and I cant say more." 
Lord Rufton said nothing, but his handgrip 
told me nil that he thought. Even Colonel 
Berkeley paid me a compliment, and declared 
that he would think no more about the 
unfortunate cigar And she— ah, if you 
could lu^ye seen f the. look 4 she gnve me, the 




flushed cheek, the moist eye, the tremulous 
lip! When I think of my beautiful I,ady 
Jane it is at that moment that I recall her. 
They would have had me stay to dinner, but 
you will understand, my friends, that this 
was no time for either Lord Rufton or myself 
to remain at Gravel Hanger. This recon- 
ciled couple desired only to be alone. In 

upon the lady. No, no, I must tear myself 
away — even her persuasions were unable to 
make me stop. Years afterwards I heard 
that the household of the Dacres was among 
the happiest in the whole country, and that 
no cloud had ever come again to darken 
their lives. Yet I dare say if he could have 
seen into his wife's mind — but there, I say 


the chaise he had persuaded her of his 
sincere repentance, and once again they were 
a loving husband and wife. If they were to 
remain so it was best perhaps that I should go. 
Why should I unsettle this domestic peace? 
Even against my own will my mere pre- 
sence and appearance might have their effect 

no more ! A lady's secret is her own, and I 
fear that she and it are buried long years ago 
in some Devonshire churchyard. Perhaps 
all that gay circle are gone and the Lady Jane 
only lives now in the memory of an old half- 
pay French brigadier. He at least can never 

by Google 

Original from 


From a PA0J0, 

Brigands in Real Life. 

By Herbert Vivian, 

RAVELLERS in the Balkan 
peninsula soon grow so much 
accustomed to stories of 
brigands that all terror rapidly 
disappears, and they cease to 
surprise any more than the 
yarns of fishermen or big -game hunters. 
Brigands have figured so prominently in the 
fiction of recent years that the most blood- 
curdling tales rarely move us to anything 
more than polite incredulity. 

When I first roamed about Servia and 
Macedonia 1 always made a point of inciting 
everyone I met to talk about brigands, 
because I was generally sure of hearing 
something exciting, but it never occurred 
to me to take the matter seriously. The 
Balkans are still medieval, and I felt that 
brigands were an appropriate mediaeval topic, 
but somehow it was like meeting the ghost 
of Sir Walter Scott and extracting fresh tales 
of a grandfather 

Even now, since I have seen brigands 
galore r brigands clanking their chains at 
railway-stations, brigands in prison awaiting 
execution* brigands being arrested, and even 
brigands at large, I have not quite got over 
the sense of unreality. You see, the brigand 
of real life is such a very different person 
from the brigand of fiction, who is a 
sort of Jack Shejipard, and takes to crime 

Digitized by Cr* 

out of sheer devilry. He adopts the bold, 
free life of the mountains, exacts enormous 
ransoms, distributes the greater part of his 
booty among the deserving poor, is actuated 
by the highest spirit of chivalry, and earns 
wide renown by his romantic intrepidity. 
The real brigand is usually a political refugee, 
who only desires to be let alone, and is 
content if he can steal enough to keep body 
and soul together, or else a political emissary 
who travels about trying to force an unwilling 
peasantry into revolution. 

Yet the modern brigand sometimes exhibits 
traits worthy of Robin Hood or DickTurpin. 
I heard of a man the other day. His name 
was Djevdjevich, and for twenty years he 
terrorized the borders of Servia and Mace- 
donia, finding safety in one country when the 
police of the other had made his haunts too 
hot for him. One day he waylaid a merchant, 
who was travelling on horseback to a market 
town with a thousand ducats (five hundred 
pounds), which ha intended to invest to the 
best possible profit. He was then well-to- 
do, rode a good horse, carried a heavy gold 
chain, was accompanied by several servants, 
and had every appearance of prosperity. 
Now, Djevdjevich was reputed a kind-hearted 
man, His largesse made every peasant of 
his district devoted to him, and with a certain 
airy vanity he boasted that he generally left 




the district better off than he found it His 
rush out from his ambush upon his prey was 
compared to that of a lion for swiftness and 
success ; many were the tales of his prowess, 
and he had never been known to fail, what- 
ever the numerical odds against him* 
The merchant submitted with fairly good 
grace to be despoiled of his ducats and watch, 
and was dismissed with perfect courtesy, 
more frightened than hurt Ten years later 
he was travelling the same way when 
Djevdjevich stopped him again, 

"I seem to know your 
face," said the brigand, not 

"Would to Heaven that I 
did not know yours," was the 
reply; ll ever since you stopped 
me and took my thousand 
ducats ten years ago things 
have gone ill with me. It was 
the turning-point in my career. 
The loss of that money inter- 
fered with my business, I was 
soon unable to meet my obliga- 
tions. And now I am merely 
the hireling of another mer- 
chant. As you ran easily see 
for yourself, I have gone far 
down in the world." 

Djevdjevich looked at him 
and believed his story, for the 
man now rode a donkey, wore 
rough clothing, and had every 
appearance of poverty, 

a How much money have 
you in your purse?" he in- 

"Only one hundred ducats, 
and they are not mine. If 
you take them I shall lose my 
employment and be reduced 
to starvation/' 

" Well, will you give me 
your word of honour to remain where you 
are until I return ? If so, I will spare your 
hundred ducats." 

The man promised, and presently the 
brigand returned with two sacks, 

" Here," said he, holding up the first, "are 
the thousand ducats I took from you ten 
years a^o ; and here," holding up the second, 
" are a thousand more, which I present you 
as interest May they help you to rebuild 
your fortunes ! When you are once more 
rich you shall again travel here at your peril, 
and I will see if I cannot get back from you 
the whole sum ai compound imerest." 

I believe that Djevdjevich is still at large 

A, hrk;ani]who evaded capture fok 


and greatly esteemed in his old haunts. If 
so, he must have devoted nearly a quarter of 
a century to brigandage. It is, indeed, by 
no means rare for men to remain outtaws for 
the greater part of their lives, I give a pic- 
ture of a man who eluded capture for no less 
than fifteen years, and then was only taken 
by accident. 

Some brigands have also a keen sense of 
humour. A friend of mine, a Servian states- 
man, now out of office, loves to recount his 
experience at their hands. 
When he was Under-Secretary 
for Foreign Affairs a few years 
ago, he was travelling across 
country in the West of Servia, 
attended only by a couple of 
gendarmes. Arriving at a way- 
side inn, he entered and called 
for a cup of coffee. He noticed 
about a dozen rough-looking 
men seated at little tables in 
the great, bare kitchen which 
is the parlour of a Servian 
inn. But for the fact that they 
carried an unusual amount of 
arms, and that none of them 
rose at the entrance of a gentle- 
man, he might easily have taken 
them for the ordinary peasants 
of the locality. As it was, his 
first impression was to explain 
their discourtesy by setting 
them down as Radicals, who 
were then very bitter against 
the Government. As all the 
tables were occupied , he sat 
down with one of the groups 
and entered into conversation. 
He soon saw who they were, 
not only from their knives and 
guns and pistols, but from their 
remarks. Like all Servians, 
they immediately began to talk 
politics, and presently they mentioned quite 
frankly what grievances had induced them to 
take to the hills. Of course, he was entirely in 
their power if they chose to carry him of/ and 
hold him to ransom, but Servian brigands do 
not carry off or even rob travellers without 
premeditation or some definite object It 
was evidently a case for diplomacy, He hoped 
very sincerely that they did not know who he 
was, for his capture would have been a serious 
matter for the Government as evidence of 
the insecurity of the country, not to men- 
tion the personal inconvenience to himself. 
They put very many questions, pumping 
him as ^rJ^jpial^ffOffi^ 1 ^ 11 !n iife » and 




he flattered himself that he evaded them 
very skilfully. Then they made all sorts 
of conditional remarks : " If you return 
to Belgrade " (this sounded ominously like a 
menace and sent a cold shiver down his 
back), "if you return to Belgrade and chance 
to meet any members of the Government, 
tell them that the brigands of this district 
are not such bad fellows after all " ; "If you 
have any influence with the Foreign Office " 
(this was painfully warm) " inform the 
Premier " (who was also Foreign Minister) 
" that when our grievances are redressed we 
will make our submission " ; and so forth. 
Again and again he felt that they must know 
who he was, but whenever he scanned their 
faces he found them imperturbable and 
almost childishly bland. At last the horses 
were rested and it was time to go. The 
critical moment had arrived. He was almost 
sure that they had discovered him, and still 
more sure that, in that case, they w f ould 
detain him as a hostage. He rose and put 
his hand in his pocket to pay for his refresh- 
ment, wondering whether he was to sleep 
that night under the greenwood tree. One 
of the men started to his feet, banged the 
table, and shouted " No, no ! " 

Alas ! his fate was decided, and a horrible 
thought passed through his mind that, 
perhaps, in a few weeks his ears might be 
cut off. " No, no," the man went on ; " we 
may be brigands, but we are still Servians, 
and Servians do not allow their guests to 
pay." My friend felt that he could not help 
showing his relief, and he detected a grim 
smile in the eyes of his companions. How- 
ever, there was nothing for it but to submit 
with a good grace, so he thanked them, said 
good-bye, and made his way to his carriage. 
Several of the men followed him out, and 
just as he was driving off one of them called 

after him, "A pleasant journey, Mr. " 

(mentioning his name); "do not forget to 
say a good word for your hosts ! " And as a 
matter of fact my friend was eventually 
instrumental in obtaining an amnesty for 
these men, who remain law-abiding subjects 
to this day. 

The causes and conditions of brigandage 
are easy to explain. In the days when 
Turkey ruled the whole Balkan peninsula, 
anyone who had come to loggerheads with 
the authorities or incurred outlawry joined a 
band in the inaccessible mountains and 
forests, where whole regiments found it very 
difficult to catch them. They subsisted on 
the (more or less) voluntary contributions of 
the neighbouring villagers, and on any booty 

Vol. xxv.— 33. 

Digitized by \j009 It 

which happened to come their way. Mean- 
while they carried on a guerilla warfare 
against the authorities, and in times of popular 
insurrection there was little or nothing to 
distinguish rebel leaders from ordinary rob- 
bers. Both were known by the name of 
hajdutsi, and many of them are regarded as 
national heroes to this day. One of the 
chief coffee-houses in Belgrade is called after 
Hajduk Veljko, who also figures in many a 
popular song. 

Nowadays the Servian brigands, who are 
often political outlaws, continue to call them- 
selves hajduhiy and retain a certain unmerited 
hold on the popular sympathies, This is 
partly explained by their real, if somewhat 
vainglorious, courage. I once travelled about 
with a captain of gendarmerie who had spent 
months in pursuing a band. He showed 
me a tobacco-box which he had taken 
from the leader ; it was carved in rude 
letters — " Velisav the Hajduk, King of 
the Mountains." The band consisted at 
first of seven men. When the pursuit 
became hot it divided up into three parties. 
All brigands have henchmen, called jatatsi] 
who supply them with food and ammunition, 
besides acting as receivers of stolen goods. 
The captain ran down the jatak of the first 
party. Holding a revolver in one hand and 
a purse of eighty pounds in the other, he gave 
the man the choice of betraying his associates 
or being summarily shot. This being but 
Hobson's choice the jatak agreed, and his 
house was surrounded while the brigands 
were there with him and his two sons. He 
had been told to begin fighting the two 
brigands, when the soldiers would come to his 
rescue. So he brought in a lamb and asked 
one of the brigands to kill it. At first the 
fellow was suspicious and refused to lay down 
his gun to kill the lamb. However, he was 
persuaded to give it to his companion to 
hold, whereupon the three jatatsi fell upon 
the man who was holding the guns and killed 
him with axes. A frightful struggle ensued 
with the survivor, but the soldiers came in 
and shot him in the nick of time, just as he 
had secured his gun and was about to fire 
upon his betrayers. 

The second party of two were also victims 
of their jatak's treachery. They suspected 
him and took it in turns to keep watch, but 
one night the sentinel dozed and the jatak 
cut his throat ; then the gendarmes came in 
and helped to finish the survivor. 

After this the remaining party of three 
became very wary, scarcely ever stirring from 
their fastnesses, . One day they quarrelled 


2 5 8 


over the possession of a silver spoon and 
decided to separate, one going one way and 
the others going another. These two were 
caught in a cottage and remained game to 
the last Some gendarmes climbed on to the 
roof and shot one down the chimney, while 
the other was killed by a fusillade through 
the walls. 

There now remained only one, and he 
proved the most difficult of all to secure. 
The captain was a long time before he could 
catch the jafiik. He disguised himself and 
went to the jatak's cottage, pretending he 
wanted to buy pigs. No one was at home 
but the ja/aPs mother, who would not allow 
him inside. However, he sat down on the 
doorstep and said he would wait for her son. 
She passed the time in discussing the gen- 
darmerie, saying they were no good for catch- 
iiig brigands, as they had a lazy captain who 
never went anywhere. My friend smiled, for 
he had lately taken to sleeping during the 
day and prosecuting his search by night. 
As she was speaking her son arrived and 
recognised the captain, who promptly arrested 
him. But even then it was a long time before 
the Jaiak would confess anything. It was 
only after he had been shut up in a cellar 
and kept without water during three broiling 
summer days that he consented to tell what 
he knew. Then the last hajduk was tracked 
to his haunts and taken alive, 

I heard another story from an eye- witness 
of a recent capture. Two brigands were 
surrounded in a farmhouse, so they climbed 
into a loft and sniped every soldier they could 
see. Attempts to fire the farm only resulted 

in the death of several more soldiers. At last 
cannon was sent for and preparations were 
made for a bombardment. The brigands 
then saw that their only chance was to make 
a sally and fight their way out One w T as 
killed at once, but the other was more fortu- 
nate. He ran very fast toward the cordon, 
firing as he went, and in nest to no time it 
was impossible for most of the soldiers to 
shoot at him without the risk of killing each 
other He shot down those immediately 
in front of him and burst through. Then 
commenced an extraordinary exhibition of 
pluck and dexterity. Running for his life, 
he zigzagged, leaped into the air, and even 
fell repeatedly on his face to disturb the aim 
of his foes, When he had advanced some 
two hundred yards away from them he 
stopped and began to sing a song of 
mockery and defiance, w T hich had probably 
been handed down from the old days of 
guerilla warfare against the Turks, He 
challenged any tw T o soldiers to come out and 
do battle with him, but the offer was not 
accepted. So he strolled away with exagge- 
rated carelessness, like the hero of some 
mediaeval epic, surely a rare dramatic figure 
for this unromantic age. 

Some years elapsed before his hour struck, 
and then his end was gilded with romance, 
(i lory ing in his immunity, be had married 
and taken lus wife to share 
among the mountains. His 
charmed, and his recklessness 
hardiness without evil consequences. But 
the gendarmerie was still on the alert s and 
one day the woman was shot on her way 

his wild life 
life seemed 
became fool- 

Frvm a\ 


by Google 


I Ftafe 


BRIGAjWDS in real life. 


to procure food. Knowing the brigand's 
character — not only his belief in a miraculous 
immunity, but his blind devotion to his wife 
- they determined to lay a trap, which I 
cannot regard as otherwise than scandalously 
mean. They carried the woman's body to 
her native village and buried it in the little 
cemetery outside. Then they hid behind a 
wall and waittd. Sure enough, the same 
evening the brigand arrived with some 
flowers to lay upon her grave. He was at 
once shot, and the policemen plumed them- 
selves upon their crafr, No doubt he had 
committed countless crimes and was a terror 
as well as a scandal to the countryside. 
Still, his name will probably linger long in the 
poetry and the imagination of the people. 

His case aroused a good deal of com- 
miseration among the romance -loving 
Servians. He had left two little boys, aged 
six and four respectively, A friend of mine, 
who devotes a great 
part of his energies 
to the management 
of an orphanage, 
which he himself 
founded in Belgrade, 
determined to place 
the children there 
and see if they could 
not be turned into 
good citizens. The 
elder boy was hope- 
less from the outset. 
He wore a wild, 
sullen look, like a 
caged beast, and 
opposed a triumphant 
passive resistance to 
his teachers, In the 
playground he re- 
fused to mingle with 
his fellows, retiring 
to brood in corners, 
or pacing to and fro 
with his eyes on the 
ground. He was 
always able to hold 
his own, and no boy 
ever dreamed of 
teasing him or taking a liberty with him, 
but he repelled every advance and was by 
no means to be beguiled into friendship. 
Living in a house seemed to cramp him ; 
even out of doors he appeared to gasp for 
mountain air; and in less than two years he 
died of consumption. The younger is alive 
still, a quiet, colourless child, docile in an un- 
responsive way, but not easy to understand* 


Ftvta a 

by Google 

Macedonia is now the head-quarters of 
briganddjge, but most of its brigands come 
over from Bulgaria, where they are organized 
to pave the way for annexation or autonomy, 
As there are at least three rival organizations, 
the brigands are as much at loggerheads with 
each other as they are with the authorities. 
They come over in bands and terrorize the 
whole country, greatly to the discomfiture of 
the peaceful inhabitants, whom they compel 
to store arms and pay tribute. Villages are 
thereby exposed to a double annoyance^ the 
bands coming to deposit contraband of war, 
and the authorities sending zaptkhs to hunt 
for it. The bands do their utmost to provoke 
massacres, but the soldiers have strict orders 
to avoid anything of the kind at all hazards. 
Even battle with the bands is deprecated as 
much as possible, with the consequence that 
the most impudent provocation is often 
ignored. The other day a band crossed a 

river by a plank in 
single file under the 
eye of the soldiers 
without molestation. 
They then sent a 
challenge to the cap- 
lain of the regiment 
to come out and 
fight, but he con- 
tented himself with 
hovering about and 
watching them. The 
fact is, any serious 
slaughter would 
afford a pretext for 
invoking European 
intervention, and the 
Turks are too old 
birds to be caught 
with chaff. 

Many of the Bul- 
garian brigand-chiefs 
are hardened con- 
spirators, though, for 
the most part, the 
true politicians are 
content to sit safely 
at home in their arm- 
chairs and direct 
operations from Geneva, or Paris, or Sofia. 
But many are enthusiasts, with the common 
Anarchist's misguided ideas about tyranny 
and freedom. As will tie readily understood, 
genuine enthusiasts are very often recruited 
from the ranks of the very young, lam able 
to furnish a photograph of two Bulgarian boys 
who were beguiled into the movement. The 
one with the Bulgarian cap and the sheep skin 
Original from 





waistcoat is only 
seventeen, though 
he looks older. Ho 
has the eyes of a 
fanatic and a certain 
air of obstinacy, 
which might pass 
muster for deter- 
mination. The 
other is only four- 
teen. He is a native 
of a mountain village 
in the vilayet of 
Salonica. His father 
was shot while 
attempting to evade 
military service, so 
the boy, who was 
left almost desti- 
tute, was easily per- 
suaded to consider 
himself a person 
with grievances 
against the authori- 
ties. When his band 
was taken he fought 
very pluckily and 
received a nasty 
bayonet wound in 
his right arm, which * v *™ 1 *i 
he now carries in a 
sling. It will be noticed that 
most of these insurgents appa- 
rently have very poor phy- 
sique, but they are all wiry 
and can endure any amount 
of hardship or privation. 
They wear the soft shoes of 
red leather, called opanke, 
common to the greater part 
of the Balkan peninsula, 
These are tied round and 
round the foot with strings, 
and afford an extraordinary 
elasticity to the gait. The 
boys could accordingly climb 
like goats. 

The next photograph re pre- 
sents two desperate youths of 
eighteen and nineteen, cap 
tured in the neighbourhood 
of Lake Ochrida, They were 
convicted of a number of 
atrocious crimes, and seemed 
to delight in cruelty for its 
own sake, The one on the 
right was so badly wounded in 
the left hand that the greater 
part of it had to be ampu- 

Digitized by Google 





Frtw a Phot>: 

tated. This hap- 
pened when his 
band was fighting a 
village which did 
not welcome the 
idea of insurrection. 
Such disinclination 
is by no means rare, 
as was proved the 
other day, when a 
village arrested a 
whole band and 
handed it oi r er to 
the authorities, To- 
wards the end of the 
autumn, also, one 
of the heads of the 
movement was so 
badly wounded in 
the head by the 
stones of a village 
that he had to hurry 
back to Sofia and 
place himself in the 
doctor's hands. 

Among other en- 
thusiasts must be 
numbered certain 
popes, as the Ortho- 
dox clergy are called. 
This is quite in 
keeping with tradition, foi 
popes played a prominent 
part in all the risings of the 
last century in Bulgaria, 
Bosnia, and Servia, I have 
in my possession a copy of a 
proclamation issued by an 
archimandrite in 1875, call- 
ing upon the population to 
rise. His style was somewhat 
lurid* " Take up your arms/' 
he exclaimed t u water the 
hearth of your ancestors with 
the gore of your tyrants. Let 
us attack these drinkers of 
blood and let us exterminate 
them." I give the photo- 
graph of a priest who joined 
a Bulgarian band some years 
ago and careered about the 
country urging the people to 
revolt. He has had the 
decency to compromise with 
his ecclesiastical garb and 
wear a costume which, if 
semi-clerical, is certainly not 
orthodox. At a Macedonian 
rail way -station, however, the 
Original from 



other day, I saw a band being conducted in 
chains from the train to the prison. At the 
head of it marched u pope, wearing the 
usual cassock and hornless top-hat of his 
order. His hands were bound in front of 
him, thus giving him the appearance of one 
taking part in a religious procession. 

Stranger still than boys and clergy, there 
have even bjen women who took to brigand- 
age—not merely the devoted spouses who 
followed their husbands to the hills, but 
actually viragoes who took command and 
ruled their followers with a rod of iron. The 
lady in the accompanying picture looks rather 
melodramatic, but, according to all accounts, 
she was not a very plea- 
sant customer to meet in 
a dark wood. She has 
co m p r o m i sed s o m e wha t 
between male and female 
attire, but she has not 
been able to refrain from 
the expression of her sex's 
vanity, Besides the cart- 
wheel ornament of silver 
filigree, so popular among 
the Albanian peasants, she 
has gratified her taste for 
display with profuse em- 
broideries and necklaces. 
And her superstitious in- 
stincts are revealed by 
the charm which she 
wears over her belt. 

From time to time the 
hands seize travellers and 
hold them to ransom. 
The case of Miss Stone 
will occur to every one. 
The general opinion in 
official circles is that she 
or her friends connived 
a t h e r ca pt u r e. H o we ver 
absurd the suspicion may 
be in this instance, the fact remains that 
cases of such connivance are by no means 
unknown. At Salonica I heard of a French 
traveller who was carried off to the hills 
some years ago. Every effort was made to 
pursue his captors, but he sent pathetic 
letters protesting that this endangered his 
life and limbs. At last a ransom was 
forthcoming, and 1 believe the Turkish 
Government was eventually compelled to 
make it good. The man came back and 
has been inexplicably rich ever since, but 
he has lost much of the consideration of 
his friends. 

JVpm a Photo, 

a considerable commotion on the railway 
platform. A band of a dozen brigands sat 
huddled together, linked by many chains. 
Around them was a circle of police with 
loaded guns and fixed bayonets. A crowd 
of friends and relatives had been admitted 
to take leave of the prisoners, Some were 
being embraced by tearful young women, 
others were receiving farewell gifts from aged 
parents. One tali young man squatted on 
his haunches severely alone. He had a 
mocking, defiant expression, and smoked a 
cigarette in the corner of his mouth imper- 
turbably. When the signal was given to 
entrain he strutted forward with a fine 
s wa £ger , h ol d i ng u p h i s 1 eg- 
chain very daintily. His 
progress was naturally im- 
peded by his fetters, but 
lie conveyed the impres- 
sion of a jovial sea-walk. 
I saw him seated inside a 
third -class carriage, among 
his fellow - convicts and 
warders, still smoking at 
the same angle. I caught 
his eye and he winked at 
me sardonically* In the 
darkness at Salonica I saw 
him hobbling off to gaol 
with the rest of his gang. 
A few days later I was 
strolling about the quay 
when 1 noticed a crowd 
gathering* The same 
gang squatted near the 
landing-stage, guarded as 
before by policemen 
armed to the teeth- I 
caught the eye of the 
young man, who still 
smoked aloof with the old 
rollicking air. He was 
helped, hobbling, into 
a tossing barque, and was rowed vigorously 
towards a ship that should take him across 
the sea towards his prison at Damascus* I 
heard that he had penetrated into the konak 
at Uskuband stabbed the Vali's secretary, 
against whom he cherished a grudge. I 
could readily believe it, 

The heroic days of brigandage are past 
and unlikely to- return. Probably the next 
generation will regard it all as a myth of the 
Middle Ages, like the Inquisition or the Cru- 
sades- No doubt the world will plume itself 
upon the uniformity of civilization, but the 
traveller's last opportunity of romantic 

When I left Uskub for Salonica I noticed adventure will be no more. 

by Google 

Original from 

Saunderson and the Dynamite. 

By Louis Becke. 

AUNDERSON was one of 
those men who firmly believed 
that he knew everything, and 
exasperated people by telling 
them how to do things ; and 
Denison, the supercargo of the 
Palestine^ hated him most fervently for the 
continual trouble he was giving to everyone, 
and also because he had brought a harmonium 
on board, and played dismal tunes on it 
every night and all day on Sundays. But 


as Saunderson was one of the partners 
in the firm who owned, the Palestine, 
Denison and Packenham, the skipper, had 
to suffer him in silence and trust that some- 
thing might happen to him before long. 
What irritated Denison mere than anything 
etse was that Saunderson frequently expressed 
the opinion that supercargoes were super- 

fluous luxuries to owners, and that such work 
"as they tried to do could well be done 
by the captains, provided the latter were 
intelligent men," 

"Never mind, Torn, 1 ' said Packenham, 
hopefully, one day, tl he*s a big eater, and is 
bound to get the fever if we give him a fair 
show in the Solomons, Then we can dump 
him ashore at some missionary's — he and his 
infernal groan -box — and go back to Sydney 
without the beast," 

When the Palestine 
arrived at I^eone 15ay } 
in Tutuila, Saunderson 
dressed himself beautifully 
and went ashore to the 
mission-house, and in the 

evening Mrs. O (the 

missionary's wife) wrote 
Denison a note, and asked 
if he could spore a cheese 
from the ship's stores, and 
added a P.S. : " What a 
terrible bore he is ! " This 
made the captain and him- 
self feel better. 

The next morning Saun- 
derson came on board. 
Denison was in the cabin, 
showing a trader named 
Rtgby some samples of 
dynamite ; the trader 
wanted a case or two of 
the dangerous compound 
to blow a boat passage 
through the reef opposite 
his house, and Denison 
was telling him how to use 
it Of course, Saunderson 
must interfere, and said he 
would show Rigby what to 
do. He had never fired 
a charge of dynamite in 
his life, nor even seen one 
fired, or a cartridge pre- 
pared, but had listened 
carefully to Denison. Then 
he sarcastically told Denison that the cheese 

he had sent Mrs, O m 'g nt have passed 

for dynamite, it was so dry and tasteless. 

"Well, dynamite is made from cheese, you 
know/' said the supercargo, deferentially ; 
" just cheese, slightly impregnated with picric 
acid, gastrito-nepenthe, and cubes of oxalic- 

by Google 

Original from 



Saunderson said he knew that, and after 
telling Rig by that he would walk over to his 
station before dinner, and show him where 
to begin operations on the reef, went on shore 

About twelve o'clock Denison and Rigby 
went on shore to test the dynamite, fuse, and 
caps — first in the water and then on the reef* 
Just abreast of the mission -house they saw 
a big school of grey mullet swimming close 
in to the beach, and Denison quickly picked 
up a stone, tied it round a cartridge, cut the 
fuse very short, lit it T and threw it in. There 
was a short fizz^ then a dull, heavy thud, 
and up came hundreds of the beautiful fish, 
stunned or dead. Saunderson came out of 
the mission -house and watched the natives 
collecting them. Denison had half-a-dozen 
cartridges in his hand ; each one was tightly 
enveloped m many thicknesses of paper, 
seized round with twine, and had about six 
inches of fuse with the ends carefully frayed 
out so as to light easily, 

"Give me some of those," said Saunderson* 

The supercargo reluc- 
tantly handed him two, 
and Saunderson re- 
marked that they were 
very clumsily covered, 
but he would fix some 
more himself "properly " 
another time. Denison 
sulkily observed 
that he had no 
time to waste in 
making dynamite 
cartridges look 
pretty. Then as 
walked off he 
called out and 
told him that 
if he was going 
to shoot he 
would want to 
put a good 
heavy stone on 
the cartridges. 
said when he 
wanted advice 
from anyone 
he would ask 
for it Then 
he sent word 
by a native to 

Mrs. O that he 

would send her some 

lish in a few minutes, "mudplk nearly went into k m," 

Now within a few hundred yards of the 
mission-house there was a jetty, and at the 
end of the jetty was His Majesty's gunboat 
Badger^ a small, schooner - rigged, wooden 
vessel, commanded by Lieu tenant - Com- 
mander Muddle, one of the most irascible 
men that ever breathed, and who had sat on 
more Consuls than anyone else in the service. 
Saunderson went on the jetty, followed 
by a crowd of natives, and looked over into 
the water. There were swarms < f fish, just 
waiting to be dynamited* He told a native 
to bring him a stone, and one was brought— 
a nice, round, heavy stone, as smooth as a 
billiard ball— just the very wrong kind of 
stone. He tied it on the cartridge at last, 
after it had fallen off four or five times ; then, 
as he did not smoke and carried no matches, 
he lit it from a native woman's cigarette 
and let it drop into the water. The 
stone promptly fell off, but the cartridge 
floated gaily and drifted along, fizzing in a 
contented sort of way. Saunderson put his 
hands on his hips and watched it non- 
chalantly, ob- 
livious of the 
(fact that all 
the natives 
had bolted 
back to the 
shore, to be 
out of danger 
and watch 


Original from 



against the Badger \ just in a nice, cosy 
place between the rudder-boarding and the 
stern-post. Then it went off with a bang 
that shook the universe and ripped off 
forty-two sheets of copper from the Badger, 
and Saunderson fell off the jetty into the 
water, and the blue -jackets, who were 
below, came tumbling up on deck, and 
the gunner, seeing Lieutenant-Commander 
Muddle rush up from his cabin in 
his shirt-sleeves with a ra^or in his 
hand, thought that he had gone 
queer again in his head, and had 
tried to blow up the ship, and was 
going to cut his throat, and so he 
rushed 3d him, and knocked him 
down and took his razor away, and 
begged him to be quiet; and 
Muddle, thinking it was a mutiny, 
nearly went into a fit, and struggled 
so desperately, and made such awful 
choking noises, that two more men 
sat on him ; and the navigating 
midshipman, thinking it was fire, 
told the bugler to sound to quarters, 
and then, seeing the captain being 
held down by three men, rushed 
to his assistance, but tripped 
over something or somebody 
and fell down and nearly broke 
his nose ; and all the time 
Saunderson, who was clinging 
to one of the jetty piles, was 
yelling for help, being horribly 
afraid of sharks. 

At last he was fished out by 
Rigby and some natives and 
carried up to the mission house, 
and then when he was able to 
talk coherently he sent for 
Detiison, who told him thai 
Commander Muddle was 
coming for him presently with 
a lot of a mud men, and a 
boatswain with a green bag in which was 
a "cat," and that he (Saunderson) would 
first be flogged and then hanged at the 
Badger's yard-arm, and otherwise treated 
severely for an attempt to blow up one of 
His Majesty's ships ; and then Saunderson 
shivered all over, and staggered out of the 

mission-house in a suit of Mr. O 's 

pyjamas, and met Commander Muddle on 
the jetty, and tried to explain how it occurred, 

and Muddle called him a drivelling idiot, 
and knocked him clean off the jetty 
into the water again, and used awful 
language, and told Denison that bis 
chronometers were ruined and the ship's 
timbers started, and that he had had a 
narrow escape from cutting his own throat 
when the dynamite went off, as he had 
just begun to shave. 


Saunderson was very ill after that, and 
was in such mortal terror that Muddle and 
everyone else on board the gunboat meant 
to kill, wound, or seriously damage him that 
he kept inside the mission house and said 
he felt he was dying. So Den i son and 
Packenham, who were now quite cheerful 
again, sent his traps and his harmonium 
ashore and sailed without him, a great peace 
in their bosoms. 

by Google 

Original from 

fP°^£>^Pf J&TiaUSTTii. 

F I had the time to amuse my- 
self, I think that — among other 
things — I should collect books 
of etiquette, and read them* 
If you will examine the works 
of fiction most popular nowa- 
days you will come to the conclusion that 
the three qualities considered most engaging 
in written matter are mystery, humour, and 
surprise. The story of mystery, done with 
reasonable dexterity, always pleases ; the 
story of humour often does ; surprise is 
frequently an active ingredient in the pleasure 
derived from both, but it has its own more 
particular domain in the novel of rattling 
adventure, But to enjoy these three qualities 
you must read three, or at least two, separate 
books of fiction ; in the book of etiquette 
you get them all three together. Where will 
you find a more ingenious and astounding 
puzzle than in the maze of instruction (and 
contradiction if you consult more than one 
boob) that clusters about the simple visiting- 
card ? The rules of that game that no mind 
but the female can ever comprehend, the 
game that reaches, its perfection when played 
by a stout old lady with three daughters 

Vol. xxv. — 34. 

by Google 

and a brougham, and a full pack to deal 
to every hand for three miles round ! 
I defy anybody to recite the rules 
correctly after any reasonable number 
of perusals ; and when you've learned them 
all by rote you haven't begun to attack 
the real mysteries, which are : who invented 
the whole complication, and why did he 
(or she) do it? As to humour you will find 
it everywhere, and quite of the best sort — the^ 
unconscious. And when once you get clear 
of the puzzles and the fun, the rest of the 
work supplies constant surprises ; for you are 
repeatedly amazed to find that any living 
creature, out of a Hottentot kraal or a wild 
beast show, needs telling the things so 
solemnly impressed on the barbarous reader. 
I remember a charming etiquette book 
published some few years back in America. 
A friend, who managed somehow to get a 
copy, refused to part with it at any price, but 
lent it me, and I made a few excerpts where- 
with to console myself for the loss of the 
volume when I returned it I get a deal of 
consolation (and instruction) out of those 
excerpts, and since I made them I don't 
think I have transgressed the rules laid down 




very often. For instance, you are told that 
you should not permit a lady 14 to carry your 
cane in the city." Now, that is a valuable 
warning, and I have attended to it. If ever I 
grow fatigued with the weight of my walking- 
stick in the city, I do not shove it into a 

is a small thing. Real difficulties present 
themselves when I learn that "any step 
between a Boston dip and a Philadelphia 
glide, if used as a sort of an impercep- 
tible, sweeping dip, will appear to great 
advantage on the floor. " I have a horrid 

lady's hand and order her to carry it for me apprehension that any attempt of mine 

— lhat is, since I read that book, In the city, 
I mean, of course ; in the country it would 
seem to be different, according to the 
authority. More,. I never sit among ladies 
in my shirt - sleeves— a thing which this 
American book considers not quite the thing, 
"unless it is their express and unanimous 
desire." I seem> somehow, to have been 
curiously unlucky in this matter, for I never 
yet happened to sit among any ladies who 
expressed their "unanimous desire" that I 
should take off my coat for their amusement 
— or even my boots. Perhaps I am not 
sufficiently acquainted with the fashionable 
world. Another most valuable injunction 
that rather took me by surprise was this : 
"Take care not to upset or 
run into ornaments, or stub 
the toe against them." It 
seems so revolutionary, you 
see — comes on one as such 
a sudden revelation, after half 
a lifetime spent in smashing 
one's friends' furniture, by 
way of polite attention. But 
fashions change, it is plain, 
and gentlemen who have been 
in the habit of climbing on a 
lady's mantelpiece and "stub- 
bing the toe" against her 
ormolu clock will be grateful 
for the information that that 
fine old courtly ceremony is 
now considered out of date, 
I never do it myself— now. 
Also, I never go to a dance. 
Why ? Because of the direc- 
tions in this book. They 
don't forbid me to go to a 
dance, you understand, but 
they make the job rather for- 
midable. When I read that 
I am always to "take the 
inside arm of a lady when 
promenading 5 * I am in some 
little doubt as to where she 
keeps her inside arm, having 
been usually in the habit, not 
of taking any inside arm of 
hers, but of offering her one 
of my own outside arms — 
that on the right. But that 

to compromise between a Boston dip 
and a Philadelphia glide (seeing that I don't 
know one from the other) would not end in 
niy appearing (< to great advantage on the 
floor," though I am pretty confident that I 
should end on the floor somehow, I am not 
sure, however, that even this trouble would 
deter me altogether, but there are worse, I 
must " never allow her 3i — this means the 
lady with the inside arm — "to approach 
the refreshment table." Now, I want to 
know how I am to prevent this if the lady 
insists. Must I drag her away by that inside 
arm, or am I expected to deter her by 
t( stubbing the toe against " her ? I have a 

^ f pe^r 

by Google 

Original from 



sort of idea that this may not be exactly what 
is meant, and that perhaps I am desired 
simply to wait on the lady — a thing that is 
not very novel in itself, since I was shown 
how to do it as a small boy. But the novelty 
— and this is what keeps me out of the ball- 
room now- — is in the way that waiting is to 
be set going. I must u repeatedly ask after 
her thirst n ! It is charming, though perhaps 
not altogether a novelty, for I have heard the 
inquiry made in somewhat similar form at 
Hampstead on a Bank Holiday. And then 
I must ** bring the glass to her on your 
kerchief if there are no doilies." Now, what 
is my "kerchief"? It can't mean my 
neckerchief, and if it means— but, there, 
these modem improvements 'dazzle me 

I have said that I have not transgressed all 
the rules I copied from this admirable guide 
to gentility ; but, alas ! some of them I have 
transgressed shamefully* For instance, " a 
gentleman will find it convenient and com- 
fortable to have his own fan." Now, I blush 

must really get them some day, of course — 
these and a few other necessaries ; a nice 
pair of curling-tongs and a little powder-puff 
for the pocket, for instance, and a few 
bonnet-pins to hold my hat to my scalp on a 
windy day. Another sin I have to admit : 
one of the strictest of all the rules in all 
this strict book is that a gentleman must 
11 never carry a parcel of any kind/' But, 
alas ! my wife won't let me be a gentleman ; 
nobody could be a gentleman with a wife like 
mine* who never leaves off shopping except 
on Sunday. She has even made me carry 
a lobster in* a rush lu- a fearful tyranny, 
Books, also, from Mudie ! s, in a strap. I 
shudder when 1 remember these villainies, 
and all that sustains my guilty soul is a 
sneaking hope that the writer of that beauti- 
ful book, being in America, doesn't know 
what a miscreant I am. 

I am not quite sure, either, that I have 
quite triumphantly acquitted myself in the 
matter of conversation. "At receptions^ 
teas, dinners, dances, or any other entertain- 

l*\flrt ' WLL.L 
Fine* - it * 

£*& ■ ton- 
^is * own 

FflM + 

~^*. i^fein. N E. 

to confess that I have never had my own 
fan, and words can never tell how incon- 
venient and uncomfortable I feel— and how 
remorseful But I can confidently and 
honestly say also that I have never had any- 
body else's ; so that at least I can't be 
imprisoned for my misdeeds. I hit the 
humiliating fact remains that I have never 
had a fan, nor even a smelling-bottle. I 

by Google 

merit," says the authority, " the topics should 
be select, and the oral abilities prepared to 
discuss them in a free and familiar way," I 
am not quite sure what it all means, but it 
sounds rather too beautiful for me to aspire 
to. I am always dejected even desperate — 
when I encounter that blessed word "select" ; 
it knocks all the free and familiar stuffing out 
of my unprepared oral abilities. I am a 
Original from 




pallid coward in the presence of anything or lished only a month or two ago in this 
anybody "select* J just as I am when it country. I turned to the great and in- 
comes to one of those "flowered coloured gen ious game of card-leaving first, of course, 
waistcoats" which this lovely book tells me for to me the thing has the fascination of 
are the M culmination of grandeur in the 

dress of a gentleman." I am not brave 
enough to present myself before an admiring 
world in such an article. 

Still, I mustn't despair; perfection is-be- 
yond the reach of the mere mortal. If I 
can't follow the counsels of this beautiful 
book to the letter I can at least make a 
rough sort of stagger at it, taking care not to 
stub the toe against anything select And 
I can prevent any lady in the city from 
carrying my walking stick on her outside arm, 
even if I shrink from " inquiring after " her 
inside thirst ; while if my wife still cruelly 
insists on my carrying a parcel of Boston 
dips, I can at least endeavour to do it will] a 
Philadelphia glide, so that tlie dips will he 
sort of im perceptible, and so that even in 
the event of utter breakdown my culminating 
grandeur will cause me to appear to great 
advantage on the floor. 

I don't remember seeing another modern 
etiquette book quite so handsomely inter- 
esting as this ; but just lately 1 came 
across a rather good one which was pub- 


the mysterious, uncanny, and unknown. I 
never seem to know what is trumps, so to 
speak, and I thought F might get a hint. 
But, no. I learn that if I were a young lady 
I should not send up my mother's card when 
calling on a publisher — though I find no 
instructions in the case of an auctioneer or 
even an aeronaut ; and I am only left to 
wonder if — not being a young lady — I ought 
to carry my mother's card when / go to a 
publisher, The rest is whirling confusion. 
Cards that have to be turned down, cards 
that should be turned up (that sounds rather 
like trumps), marked cards {which seem to 
be allowed in this game), how many should 
be dealt to a widow with two daughters, 
which should go into the jack-pot, what should 
be done to a respectable dowager with 
five aces up her sleeve — all these things 
are probably there, but 1 have forgotten 
them already. What I can't forget is the 
instruction as to how the cards should be 
played on the hall table. The ** society 
woman," I am told, should "pop it down 
Original from 



like a flash of lightning. " I have never seen 
a " society woman," or anybody else, popping 
down a flash of lightning, though it is easy 
to understand that almost any lady embar- 
rassed by the possession of such an un- 
accustomed article would seize the first 
opportunity of getting rid of it without wait- 
ing for the pop. But, at any rate, any lady 
familiar with the society of flashes of light- 
ning will now know what to do with her card. 

Giving up the card game in despair I 
turned to " Introductions," and was gratified 
to find complete instructions to the un- 
imaginative liar as to the lies proper to use 
after promising to introduce somebody to 
another body who won't have it : one sug- 
gested excuse, equally picturesque and 
soothing, being that the desired introduction 
would have been " cruelty to animals " ! 
(N.B. — This is not a joke of mine; the 
words are printed in the book and can be 
bought — with the rest of it — for a shilling, in 
a nice blue cover, decorated with a blameless- 
looking lady and gentleman etiquetting away 
like anything.) 

Then I learn that at luncheon mayonnaise 
or dressed crab should be served " instead of 
fresh fish." Now, this is a nice piece of in- 
formation to spring on a man who has all his 
life been innocently partial to salmon or 
lobster mayonnaise and had no idea it was 
being given him "instead of" fresh fish! 
And dressed crab, too ; surely the crab is 
fresh sometimes — just by way of accident, as 
it were ? 

I also learn some new things about wed- 
dings. It used to be the correct thing, it 
seems, for the bridegroom to " mope near 
the altar," but now it is considered preferable 
for him to speak to a few of his friends " near 
the top of the church " as they arrive. Now, 
the top of most of the churches I am 
acquainted with is a weathercock, and I am 
glad that I was married so long ago that I 
was not expected to swarm up the steeple to 
hail the arrival of my friends. It was the 
Duke of Portland, it seems, who " first made 
this innovation," and he is described as a 
"very happy-looking bridegroom, the only 
one I ever saw who was completely at his 
ease," which would seem to have been very 
creditable — not to say dexterous — in the cir- 
cumstances. A " nicely-decorated fireplace " 
is recommended as "an excellent background 
for the bride," and if such things as back- 
grounds are necessary for newly-married 
people the fireplace would certainly seem to 
have advantages over the expanse of heavenly 
empyrean which is considered good enough 

by Google 

for the agile bridegroom. There is a certain 
order of precedence prescribed for the entry 
into the tea-room, beginning with the bride 
and ending with the bridesmaids and grooms- 
men—after whom, I read, "there is no pre- 
cedence observed, but a general sauve qui 
peut? which looks like a hint that every 
guest who can should take the opportunity 
to escape from the premises as fast as he 
can go. 

But the ordinary common or fireplace- 
and-steeple wedding is not all. I read about 
all sorts of weird anniversaries and how to 
behave at their celebrations. The first anni- 
versary is the cotton wedding, the second the 
paper wedding, the next the leather wed- 
ding, and then the fourth year goes blank — I 
can't tell why. The fifth anniversary is the 
wooden wedding, and then there is another 
blank — though why this shouldn't be the 
putty wedding isn't explained. The seventh 
is the woollen wedding, the tenth the tin 
wedding, the fifteenth the crystal wedding, 
the twentieth the china wedding ; and after 
that all is fairly plain sailing, through the 
silver wedding, the pearl, the ruby, the 
golden, and the diamond weddings, at the end 
respectively of twenty-five, thirty, forty, fifty, 
and seventy-five years of married etiquette. 
I little knew the vista of weddings I was 
entering on when I moped about that altar 
and didn't climb that steeple — what a des- 
perate course of one-wifed, dry-goods poly- 
gamy lay before me. 

I have endeavoured to express my admira- 
tion of these particular books, not because 
they are the most admirable in existence, but 
because they are all I have taken notes 
of. There are others just as charming 
without a doubt, and that is why I 
should like to collect them. And there 
are one or two very old books of etiquette, 
too, which have been collected and re- 
printed by the Early English Text Society. 
Several of these are addressed to children, 
and, indeed, the first in the collection is called 
the " Babee's Book." From these we learn 
nothing of the Philadelphia glide, and the 
topics are not always "select," though the 
author's " oral abilities " certainly seem to 
discuss them in a free and familiar way. 
For instance, we learn from the " Lytille 
Childrenes Lytil Boke " that in the dark 
times of the fifteenth century it was not con- 
sidered the correct thing, in " smart " circles, 
to spit over the dinner-table, or even on it. 
Ne spytte thow not over the tabylle, 
Ne therupon, for that is no thing abylle, 

is the neat and epigrammatic way in which 
Original from 



the instruction is put, and it is curious to 
note that in many old fashioned households 
the rule is still observed, after all these years. 
The idea was not that of one writer alone, 
either ; not merely one of those flashes of 
inspiration that come to one favoured person 
of genius, for in the " Boke of Curtasye ". we 
find someone else of the same opinion : — 
Gif thou spitt over the borde, or dies upon, 
Thou schalle lie holden an nncurtayse mon, 

Wonderfully particular they seem to have 
been in those old days, to consider a person 
"an uncurtayse mon" for such a trifle as 
that. Indeed, in regard to the table-cloth, 
they seem to have been altogether morbidly 
sensitive : — 

Theron thou shall not Lhy nose wype 
is one line in the moral poem called 
14 UrbanitatLv 7 a manuscript of about 1460* 
After this you are not surprised to read, in 
the "Booke of 
Nurture and 
Schoole of Good 
Manners" : — 

Pick not thy teeih 
with lhy Knyfe, 
nor with thy fy ti- 
gers ende r 
But take a stick or 
some c lea ne 
then doe you not 

This same 
"Booke of Nur~ 
ture " also tells 
us : — 

And suppe not loude 
of thy ] 'ullage 
no tyuiL* in all thy 
iyfe ; 
Dip not thy nieate in 
the Sallseller, 
but take it with 
thy Knyfe. 

A little reflection convinces us ihat it is 
the salt which you must take "with thy 
Knyfe.'' We seem to have allowed this part 
of the rule to lapse, so far as my observation 
goes ; but, in our weak-kneed, halting, modern 
way, we have not gone boldly to the time- 
honoured alternative of dipping our ment in 
the salt cellar j but have made a miserably 
ttrnid compromise with a spoon. 

Whan thou ety st t gape not to wyde 
That l hi mouth be sene on yche a syde, 

says the u Lytil Boke " ; and I believe there is 
still a lingering prejudice against opening the 
mouth quite so wide at meals. 

They were practical, too, in those times. 
Thus says the " Booke of Nurture " in the 
matter of eating soup— which the book> of 
course, calls u pottage " : — 

Fill not thy spoone to full, least thou 
loose somewhat by Ihe way. 

And even now the experienced are aware 
of the danger of piling soup too high on a 
spoon- More, this same book taught caution 
in another way, for when your soup was 
finished :— 

When thou hasie eaten thy Pottage 

doe as I shall thee wish ; 
Wype clean e thy sjxme, I do Ihee read, 
leave it not in the dish ; 

Lay it do woe before 
thy trenchoure, 
1 hereof be not 
a fray do ; 
And take heed who 
takes it up, 
for feare it be con- 

Now, that is 
very excellent 
advice. Always 
be sure that the 
lady sitting next 
you does not 
il convey " your 
soup-spoon. The 
American book of 
etiquette which I 
began by quoting 
said nothing 
about this ; and 
yet I should 
think it at least as 
important to see 
that your friends do not steal the spoons as 
to see that a lady does not carry your walk- 
ing-stick in the city. On the whole, though 
these old books of over four hundred years 
hack may be a trifle startling in places, yet 
they contain many admirable teachings (I 
have quoted some of them, in fact), and at 
least ihey do not enjoin you to " inquire 
after " a lady's thirst. 

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Original from 

A Xale of die Trout 

Stream- — „*«* * 

V UJilii^m "Davenport Hulbert 

T was winter, and the trout 
stream ran low in its 
banks, hidden from the 
sky by a thick shell of 
ice and snow. But the 
trout stream was used to 
that, and it slipped along 
in semi -darkness, undismayed and not one 
whit disheartened, talking to itself in low, 
murmuring tones, and dreaming of the time 
when spring should come back and all the 
rivers should be full 

Mingled with its waters, and borne onward 
and downward by its currents were multitudes 
of the tiniest bubbles and particles of air- 
most of them too small to be seen by the 
human eye, yet large enough to be the very 
breath of life to thousands and thousands 
of living creatures. They went wherever the 
water could go, and some of them worked 
down into the gravel of the river bed, and 
there, between the pebbles, they found a 
vast number of little balls of yellow-brown 
jelly, each about as large as a small pea. 
And the air-bubbles touched the trout eggs 

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gently , and in some wonderful way their 
oxygen passed in through the pores of the 
shells, and the little lives within were 
quickened and stirred. 

Through each of those thin, leathery, semi- 
transparent shells yuu could have seen, if 
you had examined it closely, a pair of bright, 
beady eyes and a little thread of a backbone. 
The backbones were all too long to lie 
straight, and had to curl up inside the eggs 
like so many horse-shoes, and along the out- 
side of each one a set of the tiniest and 
daintiest muscles was getting ready for a long 
pull> and a strong pull, and a pull all together. 
And one day, late in the winter, the muscles 
in one particular egg pulled with all their 
might, the backbone straightened, the shell 
was ripped open, and the tail of a new brook 
trout wriggled itself out into the water. 

But his head and shoulders were still inside, 
and for a while it looked as if he would never 
get them out A long, narrow fin ran aft 
from the middle of his back, around the end 
of his tail, and forward again on the under 
side of his body ; and with this for an oar he 

Original from 




struggled and writhed and squirmed, and 
went bumping blindly about among the 
pebbles like a kitten with its head in the 
cream pitcher. And at last he backed out 
of the shell in which he had lain for several 
months, and lay down on a stone to rest and 

The troutlet had to lie on his side, for 
attached to his breast was a large, round, 
transparent sac, which contained a goodly 
portion of the yolk of the egg. If you had 
examined it with a microscope you would 
have seen a most strange and beautiful 
sight. His heart was pumping blood into it 
through little arteries which kept branching 
and dividing, and in the 
very smallest of these 
branches a wonderful pro- 
cess was going on. Some- 
how, by life's marvellous 
and mysterious alchemy, 
the blood was laying hold 
of the material of the yolk, 
turning it into more blood, 
and carrying it away to be used in building up 
bone and muscle. 

With a full haversack to be drawn upon in 
such a convenient manner, the baby trout 
was not obliged, for the present, to think 
about hustling around in search of a living. 
This was very fortunate, for the stream was 
full of beasts of prey who would be only too 
glad to gobble him up ; and, besides, his 
frail little body was so weak and delicate 
that he could not bear the light. So he 
simply dived down deeper into the gravel 
and stayed there, and for 
some weeks he led a very 
quiet existence among the 

His yolk-sac was gradu- 
ally shrinking, and after a 
month or so it drew itself 
up into a little cleft in his 
breast and almost dis- 
appeared. It could no 
longer supply food enough 
for his growing body. And 
other changes had come. The embryonic fin 
which had made his tail so like a paddle was 
gone, the true dorsal and caudal and anal 
fins had taken their proper shape, and he 
looked a little less like a tadpole and a little 
more like a fish. He was stronger, and he 
no longer dreaded the light ; and so at last 
he came up out of the gravel bed to study 
swimming and to take his rightful place in 
the world of moving, murmuring waters. 

He had hardly emerged from his hiding- 

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place in the gravel when a queer, big- 
headed little fish darted at him from under 
a big stone, with his jaws open and an 
awful cavity yawning behind them. The 
troutlet dodged between a couple of pebbles 
and escaped, but another youngster just 
behind him was caught and swallowed alive. 
This was his first meeting with the star- 
gazer, who kills more babies than ever 
Herod did. Then there were minnows, 
and herrings, and chubs, and lizards, and 
frogs, and weasels, and water-snakes, and 
other butchers of all sorts and sizes, too 
numerous to mention. Perhaps the worst 
of all were the older trout, who never 
seemed to have any scruples 
at all about eating their 
young relations. I don't 
believe that more than one 
or two in a thousand of 
the small fry ever lived to 

His first taste of food 
was a great experience, and 
gave him some entirely new ideas of life. 
He was lying with his head up stream, as 
was his usual habit, when a particularly fat, 
plump little larva came drifting down with 
the current. He looked very tempting, and 
our friend sallied out from under a little 
black stick and caught him on the fly, just 
as he had seen the star-gazer catch his own 

Henceforth he was independent, and could 
take care of himself. He was no longer an 
embryo, he was real fish, a genuine salvelinus 
fontinafis, as carnivorous as 
the biggest and fiercest of 
his relations. The cleft in 
his breast might close up 
and the last remnant of 
yolk-sac vanish for ever. 

It must be admitted, 
however, that he did not 
look much like a mature 
trout. He was less than 
three-quarters of an inch 
long, and his enormous 
head, bulging eyes, and capacious mouth 
were out of all proportion to his small and 
feeble body. But time and food were all 
that were needed to set these matters right ; 
and he had learned how to get the food, 
while the time came of itself. I should be 
afraid to guess how many tiny water creatures, 
insects and larvae and Crustacea, found their 
way down his ravenous little maw ; but it is 
pretty safe to say that he ate more than his 
own weight in a single day. Consequently 

Original from 


2 73 

our friend grew rapidly in size and strength 
and symmetry ; and from being a quiet, 
languid baby, always hiding in dark corners 
and attending strictly to his own affairs, he 
became one of the liveliest and most in- 
quisitive little fishes in all the stream. 

The male trout were first to arrive, and they 
promptly set to work to prepare nests for 
their mates, who were expected a little later* 
It was a simple process — the nest-making. 
All they did was to shove the gravel aside 
with their noses and fins and tails* mid then 

It would take too long to tell of all 
his youthful adventures during the next 
year, and of his many narrow escapes, 
and the tight places that he got into 
and out of. Once a kingfisher dived 
for him, missed him by a hair's breadth, 
and flew back, scolding and chattering, 
to his perch on an old stump that leaned 
far out over the water. And once he 
had a horrible vision of an immense 
loon close behind him, with long neck 
stretched out, and huge bill just ready 
to make the fatal grab. He dodged and 
got away^ but it frightened him about 
as badly as anything can frighten a crea- 
ture with no more nerve than a fish. 

When he wis about a year and a half 
old he noticed that all the older and 
larger trout in the stream were gather- 
ing at the places where the water was 
shallow, the bottom pebbly, and the 
current rather rapid, and that they acted 
as if they had important business on 
hand. He wanted to do as the others 
did, and thus it happened that he went back 
again to the gravelly shallows where the air- 
bubbles bad first found him. By this time 
he was about as large as your finger, or pos- 
sibly a trifle larger, and he had all the bump- 
tiousness of youth, and was somewhat given 
to pushing himself in where he wasn't wanted. 

Vol xxvl^ 36. 


fan the sediment away until they had made 
nice, clean little hollows in the bed of the 
stream ; but there was a good deal of excite- 
ment and jealousy over it. 

Our trout was too young to bear a very 
prominent part in these proceedings, but he 
and a few companions of his own age and 




size skirmished around the edges of the 
nest ing-grou nd p and seemed to take a wicked 
delight in tensing the old males and running 
away just in time to escape punishment 
And a little later, when the nests began to be 
put to practical use, the yearlings were very 
much in evidence. Strictly, fresh eggs areas 
good en ting down under the water as they 
are on land, and partly for this reason, and 
partly because direct sunshine is supposed to 
be very injurious Eo them, the mothers always 
covered them with gravel as quickly as 
possible. But very often some of them were 
caught up by the current and swept awayin 
spite of all precautions, and our young friend 
crept up as near as he dared, and whenever 
one of the little yellow - brown 
balls came his way he would 
gobble it down without any re 
morse whatever. 

A year later our trout went 
again to the gravelly shallows, 
and this time, being six inches 
long and about thirty months old i 
he decided to make a nest of his 

and duskier. His sides were somewhat 
lighter, almost golden; in some places, and 
scattered irregularly over them were the 
bright carmine spots which sometimes gave 
him the name of the Speckled Trout 
Beneath he was usually of a light cream 
colour, but, now he had put on his best suit, 
his vest was bright orange, and some of his 
fins were variegated with red and white, 
while others were a fiery yellow. He was 
clothed in thousands on thousands of tiny 
scales, so small and fine that the eye could 
hardly separate them, and from the bony 
shoulder girdle just behind his gills a raised 
line, slightly waving, ran back to his tail like 
the sheer-line of a ship. There might be 


own. He did so, and had just induced a 
beautiful young fish of the other sex to come 
and examine it with a view to matrimony, 
when the biggest old male in the stream 
appeared on the scene and promptly turned 
him out of house and home. It was very 
exasperating, not to say humiliating. 

The next time he had better luck. As 
another summer passed away and the cooler 
weather came on he arrayed himself in his 
wedding finery, decking himself out in his 
gayest colours, and making a very brave dis- 
play. In later years he was larger and 
heavier, hut I don't think he was ever much 
handsomer than in that fourth autumn of his 
life. His hack was a dark, dusky, olive 
green, with mottltngs that 


other fishes that were more slender than he, 
and possibly more graceful ; but in him there 
was something besides beauty — something 
that told of power, and speed, and dogged- 
ness. His broad mouth opened clear back 
under his eyes, and was armed with rows of 
strong, sharp teeth. His eyes were large 
and set well apart, and the bulge of his 
forehead between them hinted at more 
brains than are allotted to some of the people 
of the stream. 

And now he started once more for the 
shallows, and travelled as he had never 
travelled before in all his life. Streams are 
made to swim against —every trout knows 
that —and the faster they run the greater is 
the joy of bn@f fgig Jhfrem One moment he 




was working up the long rapid like a bird in 
the teeth of the wind, and the next he was 
gathering all his strength for the great leap to 
the top of the waterfall ; now he rested for a 
linle while in a quiet pool, and now he went 
swinging round the curves, diving under logs 
and falU# trees, darting up the still places 
where the water lay ad reaming, and wriggling 
over bars where it was not half deep enough 
to cover him ; until at last he reached the 
place where so 
many genera- 
tions of brook 
trout had both 
begun their 
existence and 
fulfilled its great 

He scooped 
out a fine large 
nest, a little 
apart from those 
of his rivals, and 
it seemed to him 
that he was very 
nicely situated 
indeed. Kut for 
some reason the 
first possible 
mates who came 
to look at his 
location declined 
to stay. Perhaps 
they were not 
quite ready to 
settSe down, or 
perhaps it was 
merely that they 
were disposed to 
insist on the 
feminine privi- 
lege of changing 
their minds. 
Finally, however, 
there came one 
who seemed to 
be quite satis- 
fied, and of whom our friend had every 
reason to be proud. 

As she and our friend swam side by side 
her nose and the end of her tail were exactly 
even with his, Her colours were the same 
that he had worn before he had put on his 
wedding garment, and I don't think you 
could ever have told them apart if you had 
seen them together in the early summer 
They were a we I [-matched pair. 

But they were not to be allowed to set 


housekeeping without fighting 



lege. Hardly had she finished inspecting the 
nest, and made up her mind that it would 
answer, and that he was, on the whole, quite 
eligible as a husband, when a third trout 
appeared and tried to do as the big bully had 
done the year lief ore. This time, however, 
oar young friend's blood was up, and though 
the enemy was considerably larger than he, 
he was ready to strike for his altars and his 
fires. It was a comical little duel, down 

there under the 
w atcr. One 
would almost 
have thought 
they were at play 
rather than fight- 
ing for the pos- 
session of a wife 
and a home, for 
at first they did 
nothing but make 
quick rushes and 
ram each other 
in the ribs, each 
one poking his 
snout into the 
other's fat sides 
as if he were try- 
ing to tickle 
him. It seemed 
only a trial of 
strength and 
speed and dex- 
terity, and if our 
trout w a s not 
quite so powerful 
.is 1 he other, ytt 
he proved him- 
self more than 
his match in 
q 11 irk 11 ess a rid 
a £ i I i t y« Hut 
before it was 
over be did more 
than that, for 
suddenly his 
mouth opened 
and the sharp teeth of his lower jaw tore a 
row of bright scales from his adversary's side, 
and left a long, deep gash behind. That 
settled it. 

The nesting season cannot last for ever, 
and by-and-by, when the days were very short 
and the nights were very Ion-?, when the 
stnrs were bright and the frost began to take 
hold, the last trout went in search of better 
feeding-grounds, and the gravelly shallows 
seemed deserted. 

One oP(tflJ^tifiSsntaost exciting adveti- 




tures, and the one which probably taught 
him more than any other, came in the 
following summer. The stream had grown 
rather too warm for comfort, and he had 
formed the habit of spending a great deal of 
his time in deep, quiet pools, where icy 
springs bubbled out of the bank and im- 
parted a delightful coolness to the water. It 
was delicious to idle away a long, hot July 
afternoon in the wash below one of these 
fountains, having a lazy, pleasant time, 
and enjoying the caressing touch of the 
cold water as it slid along his body 
from nose to tail. And one 

/sunshiny day, as he lay in his 
favourite spring-hole, a fly lit 
on the surface almost directly 
over his head, a bright, gaily- 
coloured fly of a species which 
was entirely new to him, but 
which looked as if it might 
be very finely flavoured. He 
made a dash and' seized it, 
but he had no sooner got it 
between his lips than he spat 
it out again, before the angler 
had time to strike. Instead of 
being soft and juicy and lus- 
cious, as all flies ought to be, 
it was stiff and hard and dry, 
with a long, crooked sting, 
different from anything pos- 
sessed by any fly that he had 
ever before tasted. It dis- 
appeared as suddenly as it had 
come, and the trout sank back 
to the bottom of the pool. 

But presently three more 
flies came down together and 
lit in a row, one behind 
another. They were different 
from the first, and the trout 
decided to try his luck once 
more. He chose the foremost 
of the three and found it quite 
as ill - tasting as its predecessor, but this 
time the angler's eye and hand were a trifle 
quicker, and before he could get rid of it 
the hook was fast in his lip. For the next 
few minutes he tore around the pool and up 
and down the stream as if he were crazy, 
frightening the smaller fishes almost out of 
their wits. 

The first thing he did was to shoot along 
the surface for several feet, throwing his head 
from side to side as he went, and doing his 
best to shake that horrible fly out of his 
mouth. That didn't help matters in the 
least, and next he jumped clear out of the 


water and tried to strike the line with his 
tail. That was no better, so he rushed off 
up the stream as hard as he could go, then 
doubled and dashed away in the other direc- 
tion, and so went streaking it back and 
forth, as if all the imps of darkness were 
after him instead of one pleasant-faced man 
who was really very good-natured and kind- 

The worst of it was that wherever he went 
and whatever he did there was always a 
steady strain on the line— not strong enough 
to break it or to tear the hook away, but 
enough to keep him from getting a single 
inch of slack. If there had 
been any chance to jerk he f\ 

would probably have got 
away in very quick time. 
He grew tired after a while, 
and dived to the bottom 
of the pool, hoping to lie 
still fOT a few minutes 
where he could rest and 
think of some new plan 
of escape. But that con- 
stant tugging on his lip was 
more than he could stand. 
It almost seemed as if it 
would pull the jaw out of 
his head, and presently he 
let himself be drawn up 
again to the surface. Once 
he was so close to the 
shore that the angler made 
a thrust at him with the 
landing-net and just grazed 
his side. It frightened him 
worse than ever, and he 
raced away again so fast 
that the reel sang and the 
line swished through the 
water like a knife. 

The other two flies were trailing behind, 
and the short line that held them was con- 
stantly catching on his fins and twisting itself 
around his tail in a way that annoyed him 
greatly. And yet, as it finally turned out, it 
was one of those flies that saved his life. He 
was coming back from that last unsuccessful 
rush for liberty, fighting for every inch, and 
only yielding to a strength a thousand times 
greater than his own, when it suddenly caught 
on a sunken log and held fast. Instantly the 
strain on his mouth relaxed, and he began 
jerking this way and that, backward and 
forward, right and left, tearing the hole in his 
lip a little larger at every yank, until the hook 
came away and he was free. The wound 
was a painful one, £nd he carried the scar as 



long as he lived, but the lesson he learned 
was worth all it cost. 

The years went by, and the trout increased 
in size and strength and wisdom, as a trout 
should. One* after another his rivals dis- 
appeared, most of them losing their lives 
because they could not resist the allurements 
of the anglers, and at last there was only one 
left who was larger and stronger than he. 
This was the same big fellow who had turned 
him out of house 
and home on the 
occasion of a pre- 
vious visit to the 
nesting - ground, 
and the way the 
fierce, solemn old 
brute finally de- 
parted this life 
deserves a para- 
graph all to 

It happened — 
or, ra t her, it 
began — one 
morning in early 
spring, just after 
the ice had gone 
out. Our trout 
was there, and 
was feeling a 
trifle sleepy and 
lazy after the 
long, dull winter, 
though ho did 
not fail to keep 
an eye open for 
anything good to 
eat* I hardly 
think he would 
have jumped at 
a fly, for it was 
not the proper 
season for insects, 
and he was rather 
methodical in his 
diet ; but almost 
anything else was 
welcome. The 
warer was high 

that day front the melting snows, and many 
a delicious grub and earthworm had been 
washed from the hank by the freshet, only 
to find its way down the throat of some 
hungry trout. And presently, what should 
come drifting along but a poor little field 
mouse, struggling desperately in a vain effort 
to swim back to the shore. Once before our 
friend had swallowed a mouse whole, just as 



you would take an oyster from the half-shell, 
and he knew that they were very nice indeed. 
He made a rush for the unlucky little 
animal, and in another minute he would have 
had him, but just then the big trout ranged 
up alongside with an air which seemed to 
say : " That's my meat. You get out of 
this ! " 

Our friend obeyed, and the bully gave a 
leap and seized the mouse, and then— his 

time had come. 

He fought 
bravely, but he 
was fairly hooked, 
and in a few 
minutes he was 
out on the bank, 
gasping for breath, 
flopping wildly 
about, and fouling 
his beautiful sides 
with sand and 
dirt. And that 
was the end of 

And so our 
friend became 
the king of the 
trout stream. 

You are not to 
suppose, however, 
that he paid very 
much attention to 
his subjects, or 
that he was par- 
ticularly fond of 
giving orders. On 
the contrary, he 
had become very 
solitary and 
hermit-like in his 
habits. In his 
youth he had 
been fon d of 
society, but of 
late years his 
tastes seemed to 
have changed, 
and he kept to 
himself, and lurked in the shady, sunless 
places till his skin grew darker, and he 
more and more resembled the shadows in 
which he lived. His great delight was to 
watch from the depths of some cave-like 
hollow under an overhanging bank until a 
herring, or a minnow, or some other baby- 
eater came in sight, and then to rush out and 
swallow himcftracJ ftefen 




Other changes had come beside those in 
his relations to his fellow- trout. The curving 
lines of his body were not quite so graceful 
as they had once been, and at times he 
wore a rather lean and dilapidated appear- 
ance, especially during the six months from 
November to May. His tail was not so 
handsomely forked as when he was young, 
but was nearly square across the end, and 
was beginning to be a little frayed at the 
corners. His lower jaw had grown out 
beyond the upper, and at its extremity it was 
turned up in a wicked looking hook, which 
amounted almost to a disfigurement, but which 
was often very convenient in hustling smaller 
trout out of the way. Even his complexion 
had changed, as we have already seen. As to 
size, he succeeded* after many years of living 
and ruling, in attaining a weight of nearly 
three pounds, which made him considerably 
larger and heavier than his old enemy had 
been. Altogether, he was less prepossessing 
than in former days, and decidedly more 

But the two great interests of his everyday 
life were the same that they had always been 
■ — namely, to get enough to eat and to keep 
out of the way of his enemies. For enemies 
he still had t and would continue to have as 
long as he lived. The fly-fishermen, with their 
feather-weight rods and their scientific tackle, 
came every spring and summer, and only die 
wisdom born of ex[>erience kept him from 
falling into their hands. Several times he 
met with an otter and had to run for his life. 

Once a bear, fishing for suckers, came near 
catching a brook trouL He certainly could 
not complain of any lack of excitement, 

And when the end came it was a violent 
one and so inglorious that I am almost 
ashamed to tell it, He, the king of the trout 
stream — he, who had so often run Fate's 
gauntlet and escaped with his body unharmed 
and his wits sharper than ever — he, who 
knew the wiles of the fly-fishermen better 
than any other trout in the stream, fell a 
victim to a little boy with a piece of sapling 
for a rod, coarse string for a line, and a worm 
for bait 

I'm sure it wouldn't have happened if he 
had stayed at home, but one spring he took 
it into his head to go on an exploring expe- 

In the course of his wanderings he came 
to where a school of yellow perch was loafing 
in the shadow of a wharf, and just as he 
pushed his way in among them that little 
red piece of worm sank slowly down through 
the green water. It was something new to 
the trout, and the perch seemed to think 
it was good to eat, and so, although the 
string was in plain sight and ought to have 
been a sufficient warning, he exercised his 
royal prerogative, shouldered those yellow- 
barred plebeians aside, and took the tit-bit 
for himself It is too humiliating ; let us 
draw a veil over that closing scene. 

The king of the trout stream had gone the 
way of his fathers, and another reigned in his 

by Google 

Original from 

The Sorceress of the Strand. 

By L. T. Meade and Robert Eustace. 


COUNT on your accept- 

" said Vandeleur. 

why ? " I asked, 


with some impatience. " I 
have never heard anything 
favourable with regard to 
Mrs. Bensasan. Her cruelties to her 
animals are well known. Granted that she 
is the best tamer of wild animals in Europe, 
I would rather not know her." 

"That has nothing to do with the case in 
point," replied Vandeleur. " Mrs. Bensasan 
and Madame Sara are working one of 
Madame's worst plots. I have not the least 
doubt on the subjqpt. It is my business to 
solve this mystery, and I want your aid." 

" Of course, if you put it in that way I can 
refuse no longer," was my response. "But 
what do you mean ? " 

"Simply this." As Vandeleur spoke he 
leant back in his chair and drew a long puff 
from his meerschaum. " I am acting in the 
interests of Gerald Hiliers. You have, of 
course, heard of the missing girl ? " 

" Your enigmas become more and more 
puzzling," I replied. " I know but little of 
Gerald Hiliers. And who is the girl ?" 

" I have rather a pretty story to entertain 
you with. This is the state of things, as 
nearly as I can narrate it. Mrs. Bensasan, 
the owner of Bensasan's Menageries, is in 
some ways the talk of London, She has 
dared to do what hardly any other woman 
has done before her. She runs her shows 
herself, being always present at important 
exhibitions. Her lion-taming exploits were 
remarkable enough to arouse general atten- 
tion in Paris last year, but now in London 
she is going on an altered tack. She is 
devoting herself to the taming of even wilder 
and more difficult animals to manage — I 
mean wolves." 

" But what about the girl and your friend 

" I will explain. But first let me tell you 
about Mrs. Bensasan. I must describe 
her before I go any farther. She is built 
on a very large scale, being six feet in 
height. She has strong features, prominent 
eyes, and a ringing, harsh voice. Her 
mouth is remarkably large and wide. I 
understand that Madame Sara has supplied 
h?r with a perfect set of false teeth, 
so well made that they defy detection, 

but altogether she is disagreeable to look 
at, although the very essence of strength. 
Now, this woman is a widow and has one 
only child of the name of Laura, a girl about 
nineteen years of age, who is in all respects 
as unlike the mother as daughter could be, 
for she is slight, fair, and gentle-looking, with 
a particularly attractive face. Miss Laura has 
had the bad taste, according to Mrs. Ben- 
sasan, to fall in love with Hiliers, whereas 
the mother wants her for a very different 
bridegroom. I have known Hiliers for years, 
and his father is a friend of mine. He is a 
nice, gentlemanly fellow, with good com- 
mercial prospects. Now, although it is 
more than probable that Hiliers will be a 
rich man, Mrs. Bensasan does not wish for 
the match. She wants Laura to marry a 
horrible, misshapen little man — a dwarf of 
the name of Rigby. So far as I can ascer- 
tain Rigby is half Jew, half Greek, and he 
has evidently known Mrs. Bensasan for many 
years. He lives in expensive lodgings near 
Cavendish Square, drives a mail phaeton, and 
has all -the externals that belong to a rich 
man. His face is as repulsive as his body is 
misshapen. The girl cannot stand him, and 
what the mother sees in him is the most 
difficult part of the problem which I have 
got to solve. It may be a case of blackmail. 
If so, I must prove it. There is not the 
slightest doubt that this extremely strong and 
disagreeable woman fears Rigby, although 
she professes to be a great friend of his. 

" In addition, Madame Sara is Mrs. 
Bensasan's friend. She spends a great 
deal of her time at Cray Lodge, the 
pretty little place near Guildford where the 
Bensasans live. These two women are evi- 
dently hand in glove, and both have resolved 
to give the poor girl to Joseph Rigby ; as 
things are at present Gerald Hiliers stands 
a poor chance of winning his bride." 

" You say the girl is missing ? " 

" Yes. About a month ago Gerald wrote 
to Mrs. Bensasan asking her for Laura's 
hand. He had quite a civil letter in reply, 
stating that the matter required consideration, 
and that just at present she would rather he 
did not pay his addresses to her daughter. 
Nevertheless, he received an invitation, a few 
days later, to stay at Cray Lodge. 

" He arrived there, was treated with 
marked kindness, and allowed to see Laura 



as much as he liked* The poor girl seemed 
sadly restrained and unhappy. One day 
when the two found themselves alone she 
told him that he had better give her up, as 
she knew there was not the slightest chance 
of her being allowed to marry him ; but she 
further added that under no circumstances 
would she marry Rigby, As she uttered the 
words Mrs, Bensasan came into the room. 
To all appearance she had heard nothing, 
Hiliers left Cray Lodye that afternoon. 

"Early the next morning he received a 
letter from Mrs. Bensasan asking him to 
come to her at once. He hurried to the 
Lodge ; he was received by his hostess, 
who told him that she had sent Laura 
from home, and that she did not intend 
to reveal her whereabouts until she had 
decided to give her as a bride to Joseph 
Rigby or to 
him. She would 
not say at 
present which 
suitor she most 
favoured; she 
only reserved to 
herself the abso- 
lute power to 
choose between 

l£ ' Laura shall 
only marry the 
man I choose her 
to marry/ was her 
final announce- 
ment T and then 
she added : ' In 
order to study 
your character, 
Mr. Hiliers, I 
ngain invite you 
to come here on 
a visit. My friend, 
Mr + Rigby, will 
also be a guest/ 

"This state of 
have nnde Hiliers 
anxious, although 

not greatly alarmed ; but Laura's old nurse, 
who had been hiding behind a laurustinus 
bush in the avenue, rushed up to him as he 
was returning to the railway-station and thrust 
a note into his hand. It was written by herself 
and was very illiterate- In this she managed 
to inform him that her youni^ lady had been 
removed from her bed in the middle of the 
night and been put forcibly imo a cab by 
Mrs. Bensasan and Madame Sara, It was 

the nurse's impression that the poor girl was 
about to be subjected to some very cruel 

" Hiliers came to meat once and implored 
me to help him to find and rescue Miss 
Bensasan. I must own that I was at first 
puzzled how to act. It was just then that an 
extraordinary thing happened. Mrs, Bensasan 
came to see me. Her ostensible reason was 
to consult me with regard to some curious 
robberies which had lately taken place on 
her premises. Her great fear was that the 
people who committed the burglaries would 
try to injure her wolves by throwing poisoned 
meat to them. She had heard of me and 
my professional skill from her great friend, 
Madame Sara, and, in short, she wanted to 
know if I would take up the matter, assuring 
me that I should be handsomely paid for my 


services, and, further, that I might bring my 
friend, Mr. Dixon Druce, with me. 

" ' Madame Sara and l would like to have 
you both staying at Cray Lodge,' she said, 
1 1 hope you w r ill come. Will you, in com- 
pany with your friend, Mr Druce, visit me 
next Monday? We can then go carefully 
into the matter and you can give me your 
opinion. It would be a most serious thing 
for me, m^iqwrkldiyoilhan I can give you 




the least idea of, if my wolves were tampered 
with. 1 ask for your presence as a great 
favour. Will you both come ? J J ' 

"And you accepted that sort of invita- 
tion ? " was my remark. 

'* I accepted it," replied Vandeleur, gravely, 
4( for us both." 

" But why? Your attitude in this matter 
puzzles me very much, I should imagine 
that you would not care to darken that 
woman's doors." 

" I suspect," said Vandeleur, slowly, " that 
the tale of the robberies is a mere blind. 
I look forward to a very interesting time at 
Cray Lodge, for I intend to become possessed 
of the necessary knowledge which will enable 
me to give Miss I^aura to Gerald Hiliers 
as his bride." 

I greatly disliked the idea of going to .stay 
at Cray Lodge. I thought Vandeleur on the 
wrong track when he entered Mrs. Bensasan's 
house as her guest. There was no help for 
it, however ; he was determined to go, and I, 
as his special friend, would not fail him in 
what was extremely likely to be an hour of 

On the following Monday accordingly I 
accompanied Vandeleur to 
Mrs, Bensasan's house. A 
smart dog-cart was waiting for 
us at Guildford, and we 
drove to the Lodge, a 
pretty house, situated about 
three miles out of the town. 
It stood in its own 
grounds. There 
was a pine wood 
to the left, and I 

might have thought I was approaching one 
of the most innocent and lovely homes of 
England, but for the sinister bay of a wolf that 
fell upon my ears as we drove up the avenue. 
Tea was in full progress in the central 
hall when we arrived. Mrs, Bensasan wore a 
gown of tawny velvet, which suited her massive 
figure and harsh, yet in some ways hand- 
some, face. Her hair was a shade redder 
in tone than the velvet, and she had it 
arranged in thick coils round her large 
head. Her dead- white complexion was un- 
relieved by any colour. Her reddish eye- 
brows were thick, and her eyes, large and the 
colour of agates, gleamed with approval as 
we entered the halL She came forward at 
once to meet us. 

"Welcome!*' she said, in her harsh voice, 
and as she spoke she smiled, showing those 
white, regular teeth which Vandeleur ha^ 
mentioned as the work of that geniusf 
Madame Sara. 

We stood for a moment or two by the 
fire, and as we did so I watched her face. 
The brow was low, the eyes very large and 
very brilliant, but I thought them altogether 
destitute of humanity. The nose was thick, 

with wide nostrils, 
and the mouth 
was hideous, cut 
ike a slit across 
her face. Not- 
withstanding her 


vol. *x^ae. 

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beautiful teeth, that mouth destroyed all 
pretence to good looks. 

In the presence of one so coarse and 
colossal Madame Sara, who was standing in 
the background, appeared at first almost 
insignificant, but a second glance showed 
that this woman was the very foil she needed 
to bring out her remarkable and great attrac- 
tions. Her slenderness and her young 
figure, the softness of her blue eyes, the 
golden sheen of that marvellous hair, which 
was neither dyed nor artificially curled, but 
was Nature's pure product, glistening and 
twining itself into tendrils long, thick, and 
soft as a girl's, all contrasted well with the 
heavy appearance of her hostess. Mrs. 
Bensasan looked almost an old womnn ; 
Madame Sara might have been twenty-eight 
or thirty. She 
wore a black dress 
of cobwebby lace, 
and nothing could 
better suit the 
delicacy of her 

I had just taken 
my second cup of 
tea when a voice 
at my el bow caused 
me to turn round 
quickly. Then, 
indeed, I could not 
help starting, for 
one of the most 
misshapen and al- 
together horrible- 
looking men I had 
ever seen stood be- 
fore me. His face 
was all hillocks and 
excrescences, the 
forehead bulging 
forward^ the eyes 
going back' very 
deeply into their 
sockets ■ they were 
small eyes, and 
seemed ever to 
glisten with an un- 
easy and yet watch- 
ful movement. The 

lower part of his face was covered with a thick 
black moustacheand short beard. The nose was 
small, very retr&ussi^ with wide nostrils. Mrs. 
Bensasan introduced him with a careless nod. 

"My friend, Mr. Joseph Rigby — Ml 
Druce," she said. 

Rigby bowed rather offensively low, and 
then began to talk. 

Digitized by C-OOQ I C 


,4 I am glad you and Mr Vandeleur are 
going to give us the pleasure of your com- 
pany for a day or two," he said. " Mrs. 
Bensasan has a very fine scheme for our 
amusement on Wednesday night. You have, 
of course, heard of Mrs, Bensasan's wolves ? 
I doubt not she will let you see them if you 
ask her. She is very proud of these animals, 
and no wonder Taganrog, a great Siberian 
he-wolf, is alone likely to make her famous. 
It is Mrs. Bensasan J s most kind intention 
to give us an exhibition of her power over 
Taganrog on Wednesday night," 

"Indeed," I answered, "that will be 

Someone called him and he moved away. 
Tea was over, but there were still a couple of 
hours of daylight left. Mrs, Bensasan stood 

a little apart from 
her other guests. 
She saw me and 
came up to my 

"Should you be 
afraid if I took you 
to see my pets ? n 
she said* 

" I should like 
to go very much," 
I replied. 

" You are certain 
you will not turn 
coward? Some 
people dread the 
special pack I am 
now training." 
I smiled, 
" I shall not be 
afraid, "I answered. 
A pleased ex- 
pression crossed 
her face. 

"Then you, Mr, 
Druce, shall come 
with me. You 
alone. Come at 
once," she added, 
"This way, please, 71 
We left the 
house and, cross- 
ing the broad 
avenue, went down a sloping path which led 
through the pine woods. As we walked I 
peered through the trees, and just before me, 
a few hundred yards away, I saw a cluster of 
low buildings or kennels such as are used to 
keep foxhounds in. These kennels were, how- 
ever, very much stronger than those required 
by the master vf a pack of hounds. They were 



*8 3 

of strong brick on three sides, and in front 
were placed high iron railings which fenced in 
a sort of yard. This was further divided into 
compartments, one compartment for each 
kennel, and the whole was covered over at 
the top with an iron penthouse, In short, 
the arrangements were very much on the 
scale employed by the Zoological Gardens in 

" Before I bought Cray Lodge, the late 
owner kept foxhounds," said Mrs. Bensasan. 
41 1 had the old kennels pulled down and 
built up again to suit my, purpose. I have 
kept all sorts of wild beasts in them. My 
present fancy is for wolves. Taganrog, my 
large Siberian wolf, has proved more trouble- 
some than any other animal I have attempted 
to subdue. I shall, of course, conquer him in 
the end, but I own that the lask is difficult/ 1 

We had now reached the kennels. Mrs. 
Bensasan and I stood together outside the 
iron bars. The doors of the cages them- 
selves were all open, and the wolves were 
outside in their yards: some lying down 
and half asleep, others moving restlessly 
up and down the narrow confines of their 
prisons. Mrs. Bensasan walked from one 
enclosure to the other, looking into each 
and telling me different stories with regard to 
the special wolves. At last she came to the 
enclosure where Taganrog was confined, 

"You must watch from there," she 
said, pointing 
to a grass 
mound that 
stood a few 
feet away. " I 
am the only 
one who ever 
ventures inside 
those doors. 
Taganrog fears 
me, although 
he will not as 
yet submit al- 
together to my 
treatment " 

As she spoke 
she took a 
great key from 
her girdle and 
unlocked the 
gate in the 
centre of 
the bars, 
When she 
got within 
she put up 
her hand 

in the direction of the iron roof and took down 
a big stock whip. At the end of the fall of 
the whip were wires loaded with balls of lead. 
I now noticed that Taganrog's kennel was 
closed. I had not yet seen the great wolf. 

c< What an awful weapon ! " I said, pointing 
to the whip, 

Her ugly mouth opened wide and she 
showed all her glittering white teeth. 

" Not more awful than my beautiful Tagan- 
rog deserves. He is the grandest creature on 
earth and the most untamable. But never 
mind ; my heart is set on effecting his moral 

She laughed discordantly* There seemed 
to be nothing in tune about the woman. 
Already her personality was getting on my 
nerves. She gave me a glance, half of 
contempt, half of amusement. 

'* Watch me from the grass bank," she said. 
I( You will see what will appear to you an 
ug'y sight ; but remember all the time that it 
is the reformation of the great Siberian wolf 
Taganrog, and that by and-by all England, 
all Europe, will ring with his exploits and 
mine, It is a strange thing, Mr. Druce, but 
that great wolf seems part of me. Once, 
in some primeval age, we must have been 

She turned, and before I could utter a 
word walked to the kennel The next 
instant a huge grey wolf sprang into sight 


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Original from 



He was a beautiful creature, with long, very 
thick grey hair, a bushy tail, and a face 
which at first sight looked gentle as that of 
a Newfoundland dog. But when he saw 
Mrs. Bensasan a rapid change came over 
him. He crouched in one 1 comer; his teeth 
were bared, he growled audibly, and shivered 
in every limb. Mrs. Bensasan stood a foot 
away, holding her loaded whip slightly raised. 
She said something to the animal. He 
crouched as though to spring. In another 
instant the whip descended smartly on his 
loins. The blood flowed freely from the poor 
beast's back. A fierce and terrible expres- 
sion broke from the woman's lips, and raising 
the whip once again she lashed the animal 
several times unmercifully. I could not 
contain myself. I sprang forward to the 
doors of the cage. 

" Don't be so cruel," I said ; " this exhibi- 
tion is too horrible." 

She turned at once at the sound of my 
voice. I noticed that her face was deadly 
white and covered with perspiration. 

11 Don't interfere," she said, in a low tone 
of fierce anger. 

Then, fixing her eyes on Taganrog, she 
raised the whip once more with a menacing 
attitude and pointed to the kennel. The 
wolf gave her a cowed look from his blood- 
shot eyes and slunk in, growling as he 

Going up to the kennel she shot the bolt 
and made it fast Then, returning the whip 
to its place, she opened the iron gates, passed 
through, locked them, and faced me. 

"When you came so near you were in 
danger," she said. " You did a mad thing. 
Taganrog was in the mood to spring at any- 
one. He fears me, but he would have torn 
you savagely even through the bars. In his 
moments of fear and passion, to tear anyone 
limb from limb would be his delight You 
were foolhardy and in danger." 

We were walking slowly back to the house, 
and had gone about twenty yards, when a 
cry, clear, full, and piercing, rang on the air. 
It was so terrible and so absolutely un- 
expected that I stood still and faced Mrs. 

"That is the cry of a woman," I said. 
" What is wrong ? " 

She smiled, and stood still as though she 
were listening. The cry was not repeated, 
but the next instant the howl of many 
wolves in evident hunger broke on the 

" What was that other cry ? " I asked. 

" One of the wolves, perhaps," she 

by L^OOgle 

answered, " or "—she shrugged her shoulders 
— " the ghost may really exist." 

"What ghost? Please speak, Mrs. Ben- 

Again she shrugged her shoulders. 

" There is a story extant in these parts, to 
which, of course, I give no credence," she 
replied ; " but the country folks say that the 
old. vaults under the kennels are haunted. 
Those vaults are useless now and out of 
repair, but they say that a madman once 
lived in Cray Lodge. He kept foxhounds, 
and his wife died undef mysterious circum- 
stances. The fctory is that he shut her into 
the cellars and starved her. I do not know 
any particulars — the whole thing happened 
years ago — but the countryfolks will tell you, 
if you question them, that now and then her 
cry comes out on the midnight or evening 
air. I am rather pleased with the story than 
otherwise, for it keeps people off the vicinity 
of my wolves. You know, of course, why I 
asked you and Mr. Vandeleur here? Not 
only for the pleasure of your company, but in 
order that your exceedingly clever friend may 
discover if there are any people in the neigh- 
bourhood who would dare to tamper with my 
special pets. It would be easy to throw 
them poisoned meat through the iron bars of 
their enclosures. A woman in my profession 
is surrounded by enemies. Ah ! how excited 
my wolves are to-night ! Listen to Taganrog ; 
he is expressing his feelings." 

A prolonged howl, full of misery, rent the 
air. We both returned in silence to the 

"You will find the hall warm and com- 
fortable, Mr. Druce. Ah ! there is Madame 
Sara sitting by the fire ; she is always good 
company. Go and talk to her. You need 
not begin to prepare for dinner for over an 

She left me and I went into the hall. 
Madame Sara was seated near the fire. The 
firelight fell on the red gold of her beautiful 
hair and lit up the soft complexion. 

I sat down beside her. 

" Will you answer a question ? " I said, 
suddenly. "Where is Miss Bensasan?" 

"That secret belongs to her mother." 

" But you know — I am certain you know." 

" The secret belongs to Mrs. Bensasan," 
was Madame's reply. 

She sat still, gazing into the flames that 
licked the great logs on the hearth. I watched 
her. She was as great an enigma to me as ever. 
Suddenly she spoke in a reflective voice. 

" You are, of course, aware that Mr. 

Hiliers is the son of a very wealthy man?" 

Original from 




" I only know that he Is a diamond 
merchant," I replied 

(t And that, 1 * she answered, slowly, "is 
sufficient, I shall have something to do 
with the elder Mr. Hiliers before long. He 
has just purchased Orion, the most marvellous 
diamond that Africa has produced of late 

" I was not aware of it," I said. 

She looked at nie again ; her blue eyes 
grew dark, their expression altered, a look of 
age crept into them — there seemed to be the 
knowledge of centuries in their depths. 

u I have a passion for jewels," she said, 
slowly, " for articles of vertu, for priceless, 
unique treasures, I am collecting such. I 
want Orion, If that gem of gems becomes 
my fortunate possession it would mean the 
overthrow of a certain lady, the recovery of 
an unfortunate girl, and the final extinction 
of a fiend in human guise." 

As she spoke she rose, gave me a slow, in- 
scrutable smile, and walked out of the hall. 

By an arrangement which we both con- 
sidered specially convenient Vandeleur and I 
had rooms each opening into the other, and 
when I heard my friend tap at my door just 

before midnight I 
felt a sense of 
relief- I opened 
it for him and he 
entered. Crossing 
the room he flung 
himself into a 
deep chair and 
looked up at me- 

"You have 
something to say, 
Druce. ^ What 
is it?" 

I replied briefly, 
giving him a full 
account of my in- 
terviews, first with 
Mrs. Bensasan 
and then with 
Madame Sara. 

"You have had 
all the innings 
this afternoon," he 
said f with a smile. 
" That cry coming 
from the kennels 
is certainly 

The smile faded 
from his face ; it 
looked sterner 
than I had ever 
seen it before. After a pause he said, gravely: — 
"This is our worst case, I offer my life 
willingly at the shrine of this mystery. 
Things have become intolerable ; the end 
must be at hand. I have resolved to die or 
conquer in this matter," 

As he spoke we both heard the cry of the 
wolves ringing out on the stillness of the 
midnight air, 

"I shall examine those cellars to-morrow," 
said Vandeleur. " Good-night I must be 
alone to think things over." 

1 did not detain him, and he left me* 
At breakfast the next morning Mrs. Ben- 
sasan said : — 

11 1 am glad to be able to tell you, Mr, 
Druce, that Taganrog is coming to his senses. 
I gave him a long lesson last night, and he 
begins to obey. He will be all right to- 
morrow night. In a fortnight's time he will 
be as meek as a Iamb, He is, I consider, 
my greatest triumph. Mr. Vandeleur, I have 
already shown my pet wolf to Mr* Druce ; 
would you like to see him?" 

M I should," he answered, gently, 
"I shall give Taganrog several lessons 
to-day," she continued, t£ and propose to give 






him his first almost immediately- Will you 
come with me now or later? He is a great 
beauty, Mr. Druce admires him immensely, 
I am proud to feel that I am his conqueror. 
Although he will always lie ferocious to the 
rest oF the world, he will soon be amenable 
to my least word or look." 

Neither of us made any reply, and Rigby, 
who was present, rose, gave Mrs, Bensasan a 
peculiar glance, and left the mom. I noticed 
for the first lime that with all her fearlessness 
she seemed to make an exception in his 
favour. When her eyes met his she did not 
look altogether at her ease. Fearless and 
strong as was her nature, was it possible that 
she w;<s in this man's power? 

"Have you told Mr. Yandeleur about that 
peculiar cry which we both heard yesterday?" 
continued Mrs, Bensasan, turning to me, *'It 
frightened you, did it not?" 

" It certainly did/ 5 I replied, 

" Knowing so little about wild beasts as 
you do I am not surprised at that," was her 
answer. "It is, I assure you, quite a 
common error to mistake the cry of a brute 
for that of a human being, for brutes have 



many tones in their 
voices, and the wolf in 
particular has a long 
gamut of sound in his 
larynx, lie that as it 
may, however, I should 
like you both to be satis- 
fied, Under my kennels 
are three old disused 
cellars. Would you not 
like to go and search 
them ? You will then 
know for yourselves 
whether there is any 
poor creature incarcer- 
ated there or not." 

Vandeleur rose to his 

" I take you at your 
word, Mrs. Bensasan," 
he said. *' I should 
like to examine the 
cellars. Will you come 
with me, Druce, or shall 
I go alone ? " 

** I will go with you," 
I replied. 

" I am going down 
now to have the 
wolves locked into 
their kennels/' said 
Mrs. Bensasan. " Will 
you follow me in 
about ten minutes' time?" 

We did so. There were no keepers 
present, but Mrs. Bensasan stood within the 
enclosure of Taganrog's kennel with a smile 
on her face and the cruel whip in her hand. 
She unlocked the iron gates nnd invited us 
to enter. To my surprise I noticed that a 
great flagstone was raised within a couple of 
feet from the entrance to the enclosure, and 
we saw a well -like opening in the ground, 

* l Here is a lantern/' said Mrs + Bensasan, 
handing one to Vandeleur, " 1 will wait 
here until you return," 

We went down at once in silence. We 
were both absolutely aware of the danger 
we ran. It would be easy for Mrs, Bensasan 
to drop the flagstone over us and to 
incarcerate us within to starve out our lives. 
Nevertheless, I do not think we feared. 

The air struck damp and chill about us. 
We heard the cries of the imprisoned wolves 
over our heads* There were three cellars, 
each opening into the other, but search as we 
would we could nut s<.:e the smallest sign of 
any human being. Yandeleur stayed some 
time in the second cellar, examining it most 
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minutely, feeling the walls, and stamping his 
feet on the ground in order to detect any 
hollow spot, At last be turned to me and 
said, slowly :— 

"Whoever cried that time yesterday has 
been removed. There is no use in our 
staying any longer," 

We retraced our steps and soon found 
ourselves in the open air, Mrs* Bensasan's 
eyes were shining with intense excitement 
There was a small, angry red spot on the 
centre of each cheek, 

" Well, gentlemen," she said, " I hope you 
are satisfied?" 

"Absolutely," replied Vandeleur. 

She opened the gate for us and we passed 

A minute later the ex- 
cited cry of the released 
pack broke on our ears. 

" Will you walk with me 
to the railway-station ? " 
asked Vandeleur. 

"What! 1 ' I cried, in 
some amazement, "are you 
going to town ? " 

"Yes, for a few hours. 
I have got an idea in my 
mind, I am haunted by a 
memory ; it goes back a 
good way, too. I want to 
have it confirmed ; it may 
bear on this case. If it does 
I may be able to release 
Miss Laura, for that she is 
detained in most undesir- 
able captivity I have not 
the slightest doubt." 

"What about the rob- 
beries?" I asked. "Is 
there anything of the sort 
going on?" 

" As far as I can tell, 
nothing. We must hurry, 
Druce, if I am to catch my train." 

I saw him off and returned slowly to the 
house. On my way back I met Gerald 
Hiliers, He was waiting to see mej and 
began to talk at once on the subject nearest 
his heart. 

"Taganrog will be in control by to-morrow 
night," he said, "The exhibition is to take 
place by electric lights and Mrs. Bensasan is 
having a small platform raised for us to stand 
on while she exhibits. She is anxious to 
accustom the wolves to the flare and light 
which must be present when she holds her 
public exhibitions. By the way," he added, 
suddenly, " I saw Madame Sara this morning, 

Digitized by Lit 

and she toid me that she has given you her 
confidence. She promised to help me, but 
on an impossible condition. My father will 
never part with Orion except for a fabulous 
price. The diamond is watched day and 
night by two men, and the safe in which it 
is secured is practically impregnable. There 
is no help whatever m that direction. ** 

"Have you told Madame Sara yet about 
your fathers view of the matter ? " I asked. 

" Ves," 

" And what did she say ? ° 

"She smiled* 

" Then, Hiliers, I counsel you to beware. 
1 like Madame least of all when she smiles." 

Yandeleur returned ratherlate that evening. 


He informed me briefly that he was satisfied 
with his investigations, and that it was his 
intention to force Mrs. Bensasan's hand, by 
means known only to himself, if she did not 
soon reveal her daughter's whereabouts. 

The next day was Wednesday ; that night 
we were to see Mrs. Bensasan in the hour of 
her triumph. I awoke with an overpowering 
sense of restlessness and d< pression. Van- 
deleur was seen talking earnestly with 
Mrs. Bensasan soon after breakfast Their 
conversation was evidently of an amicable 
kind, for when it was over she nodded to 
him, smiled, and hurried off in the direction 
of the kennels, 1 fmrn 




Vandeleur then, with long strides, disap- 
peared up the avenue. I wondered what he 
was doing and what was the matter. I 
wanted his confidence, but did not care to 
press for it. 

Shortly before lunch, as I was walking on 
the borders of the pine wood, I was amazed to 
see Madame Sara drive up in a dog-cart. She 
saw me, pulled in the mare which she was 
driving herself, flung the reins to the groom, 
and alighted with her usual agility. 

" Ah ! " she called out, " I am glad to see 
you. You wonder where I have been." 

I made no reply. 

" Confess to your curiosity," she continued. * 
"This is an extraordinary day, and my 
nerves are in a strange state. Much— every- 
thing— hangs on the issues of to-night. Mr. 
Druce, I want to confide in you." 

" Don't ! " I could not help exclaiming. 

"You must listen. This is what has 
happened. When friends fall out — ah ! you 
know the old proverb — well, friends have 
fallen out, for Mrs. Bensasan and I have 
quarrelled ; oh, my friend, such a quarrel ! 
A point was to be solved. Julia Bensasan 
wished the solution to take one form, while 
I was just as resolved that it should take 
another. She is a powerful woman, both 
physically and mentally, but she is destitute 
of tact She has no reserve of genius in her 

nature. Now, I " —she drew herself up — 

"I am Madame Sara, known to the world 
for very remarkable abilities. In this conflict 
I shall win." 

" Explain, will you ? " I said. 

" Ah ! you are curious at last. Mr. Druce, 
it is a very remarkable fact that you and your 
friend should have been fighting so hard 
against me for so many months, and in the 
end be altogether on my side." 

" What do you mean ? " 

" Need you ask ? " she replied. " Are not 
your wishes and mine identical? We want 
to make a girl happy. We have resolved to 
give her to the man who loves her and whom 
she loves. Need I say any more ? " 

" Madame Sara," I said, " you do nothing 
without a price. Have you a chance of 
receiving the diamond ? " 

" I have a passion," she said, slowly, " for 
things unique, strange, and priceless. I go 
far to seek them, still farther to obtain them. 
Neither life nor death stands in my way. 
Yes, the stone is mine." 

" Impossible ! " 

" It is true. I went to town this morning. 
I saw old Mr. Hiliers. He gave me the 
diamond. I keep it on a condition." 

by Google 

I was speechless from amazement. She 
looked at me, then said, slowly : — 

44 1 find the lost girl and give her to 
Gerald Hiliers." 

44 But why has his father changed his mind ? 
Gerald told me only yesterday how callous 
he was with regard to the whole matter." 

44 Ah ! he is callous no longer. He and I 
have both a desire, I for unique treasures 
and he for unlimited wealth. The love of 
gold is his passion. I have informed him 
with regard to some things in connection 
with . Mrs. * Bensasan. She is one of the 
richest women in England ; Laura is her only 
child and heiress. I have done something 
else for him." 

"What is that?" 

44 Imparted to him a secret by which he 
can in a measure recover his lost youth. To 
offer a man both youth and riches presents a 
temptation impossible for the ordinary man 
to resist. Mr. Hiliers is quite ordinary ; he 
struggled, but in the end succumbed, I 
knew he would." 

Her eyes sparkled. 

44 Will you tell me one thing?" I said. 
44 Why does Mrs. Bensasan want her daughter 
to marry Joseph Rigby ? Is he so rich and 
so desirable ? " 

She came a step nearer. 

44 Your friend, Mr. Vandeleur, is on the 
track of that secret," she said. 44 1 could tell 
him now, but I delay just for a time. As 
you know so much you may as well know 
this. Rigby is greater and more powerful 
than the richest man or the most beautiful or 
the greatest on earth. He holds a secret— it 
is connected with Mrs. Bensasan. Laura is 
the price of his silence. Ah ! have I been 
overheard ? " 

She sprang away from me. There was a 
rustle in the bushes near by. I rushed up to 
them and tore them asunder. No one was 
to be seen. But Madame Sara's face had 
changed. It was full of a curious, most 
ghastly fear. 

44 1 have been imprudent," she said, in a 
low voice, 44 and for the first time in my life. 
Is it possible that success has turned my 
brain ? " 

She did not wait to give me another 
glance, but hurried to the house. 

We dined early that night, as Mrs. 
Bensasan's exhibition was to take place at 
eight o'clock. The dinner was gay ; the 
conversation bright ; repartee and wit 
sparkled like champagne. On the face of 
Mrs. Bensasan, however, there was a fierce, 
cruel look, which was so dominant that, with 
Original from 



and she went 
Just as she 

all her efforts to appear friendly, sociable— 
in fact, the perfect hostess— she utterly failed. 
Once her eyes fixed themselves on Madame 
Sara's beautiful and charming face, and the 
expression in their agate depths was far from 
good to see. 

The dinner came to an end It was 
too soon to go to the kennels. 

*' There is still time enough/* remarked 
Mrs. Bensasan, addressing Madame Sara. 
il Follow me in five minutes. You and I 
have our work to do first. When we are 
quite ready for the curtain to rise and the 
show to begin, my keeper, Keppel, shall 
announce the fact to the gentlemen." 

Mrs. Bensasan went slowly from the mom. 
I had never before been so impressed. 
Madame Sara beside her hostess looked 
young, slender, almost childish. 

" That woman is the greatest of her age/' 
said Madame. " How great only I who have 
known her for years can imagine. Mr. Rigby 
and I both know Mrs. Bensasan wellj don't 
we, sir ? " 

We none of us spoke, 
slowly towards the door, 
reached it she turned and faced us 

"I have provided 
against possible mischief,' 1 
she said. 

She thrust her hand 
into the bosom of her 
dress and drew out a 
small revolver. Minute as 
it was, I knew the sort, 
and was well aware that 
it could be used with 
deadly effect With a 
gentle and sweet smile she 
returned it to its place ; 
then, taking up a cloak 
which lay on a chair near, 
she flung it over her even- 
ing dress and disappeared 
into the 

Four of 
us were now 
left in the 
hall— Rigby, 
Hiliers, Van- 
del eur, and 

"We shall 
be sum- 
moned in a 
minute ," 
said Vande- 
leur. " This 

Vol. xjev.— 37. 

is a state of tension quite unpleasant in its 

He walked to the house door and threw it 
open. He had scarcely done so before the 
sharp crack of a shot sounded from the pine 
wood below the house. It was followed 
instantly by another. Fearing we knew not 
what, we all rushed from the hall and flew 
down the path through the pine wood. The 
bright electric light guided us; the howl of 
many wolves smote savagely on our ears. 

In a very short time we had reached the 
little platform which had been erected in front 
of the huge cage where Mrs. Bensasan had 
arranged to give her exhibition. The cage 
was there, but to my surprise there was no 
keeper in sight. We instantly crowded on the 
platform and saw Mrs* Bensasan standing 
upright in the middle of the cage. She had 
the stock whip in her hand, A woman lay 
prostrate at her feet. The woman's fair hair 


by GoOglc 

streamed along the floor of the cage ; her 
cloak was torn aside. There was a large and 
ghastly wound in her throat ; blood covered 
the floor. At a little distance lay Taganrog, 
shot through the head and motionless. When 
she saw us approach Mrs. Bensasan turned. 
Her face was quite calm 
and her manner quiet. She 
looked down at the figure 
of the fallen woman. 

cl Madame Sara, the 
great Madame Sara, is 
dead," she said, with slow 
distinctness. cl She ven- 
tured into the cage ; it 
was imprudent — I im- 
plored her not to come, 
but she would not heed- 
Her death is due to Tagan- 
rog. He feared me, but 
the sight of her maddened 
him. He sprang at her 
and tore her throat. It was 
hut the work of a second. 
See, I have shot him. But 
Madame had also a re- 
volver, and just in the 
moment o f — o f — a h ! 

She tot- 
tered ; over 
her face 
there came 
an awful cx- 
and the next 
instant she 
also w a s 


Original from 



lying on the floor of the cage. Long quivers 
passed over her frame. She was evidently in 
mortal agony. We all rushed forward, burst 
open the door of the cage, and entered. 

Vandeleur went on his knees rnd bent 
over the prostrate woman. 

" I die," she said ; " I have only a few 
minutes to live. Listen ! " 

She tried to press her hand to her side ; a 
great spurt of blood poured from her lips. 

" I am shot through the lungs," she said. 
" Hers was the surest aim in the world. 
You may know all now. Madame Sara and 
I arranged this exhibition, and you, Mr. 
Vandeleur, were to be the victim. Madame 
got you both down here on purpose. It was 
she who thought the thing out ; we did not 
believe we could manage the death of you 
both, but one at least seemed certain. Your 
methods were more deadly than those of Mr. 
Druce, therefore you were appointed to be 
the victim. But when the wicked quarrel — 
ah ! you see for yourselves the result. You 
shall know all now. 

41 Joseph Rigby — yes, he is there, but it 
doesn't matter ; he knew a story about me. 
Madame also knew, but he had the evidence 
and she had not. He could hang me — it hap- 
pened years ago— I poisoned my husband." 

" I know," said Vandeleur. " I found the 
particulars yesterday, in the books at West- 
minster. I meant to speak to you to-morrow 
— but no matter." 

" Bah ! " she said, " nothing matters now. 
I hated that feeble man. I poisoned him 
with arsenic. Rigby knew, and from that 
day he blackmailed me heavily. Six months 
ago he set his heart on securing my pretty, 
gentle Laura — Laura with her money was 
to be his price. I did not dare to give 
her to another. I was determined that 
she should marry him ; I would make her 
submit. One night Madame and I took her 
away in a cab. This was to blind the neigh- 
bours. . Towards morning we brought her 
back and put her into the cellars below 
the kennels. When you, Mr. Vandeleur, 
examined them, you knew nothing of a small 
dungeon below the second cellar. Laura was 
put there. She is gagged in the dungeon 
now. You will find the spot by a jagged 
cross scratched over the stone above. She 
is uninjured. She inherits my money. When 
I die Rigby will be powerless. You can give 
her to the other man." 

Vandeleur placed his hand under her 
shoulders and slightly raised her head. 

" Madame shot me through the lungs," 
she continued. " My life is only a matter 

by L^OOgle 

of minutes. I go to my death unabsolved 
and unafraid. Madame, at least, is dead. 
She was cleverer than I and more subtle. 
Ah ! there never was a brain like hers. She 
arranged to help me ; Rigby should obtain 
Laura, and you, Mr. Vandeleur, should die. 
All was going well, but avarice got the better 
of her. For the sake of a stone, a bauble, 
she gave me up, and I could not brook that. 
I resolved that the means which were meant 
to compass your death should compass hers. 
Revenge became the strongest motive of my 
life. My intention was, had all succeeded, 
to lay the blame on lagan rog. It would 
have been natural, would it not, to suppose 
that the wolf But look ! " 

Her eyes sought the floor, and Vandeleur, 
bending down, picked up two great sets of 
steel teeth, fashioned somewhat after the 
teeth of a wolf. They jangled horribly as he 
shook them in his hand. The dying eyes 

" She made them," whispered the ex- 
hausted voice. " She made them for me to 
use in order to take you by surprise, to spring 
on you and tear your throat out. An excuse 
was to be made which was to bring you first 
on the scene to-night. The keepers were to 
be dismissed beforehand. All the world 
would suppose that it was an accident and 
that the wolf had destroyed you. She and 
I would have known better. I guessed her 
treachery and followed her to-day, and heard 
what she said to Mr. Druce. Instantly I 
changed my tactics. You should /ive, but 
she should die ! I sent for her first on 
purpose. She must have scented my change 
of front, for she had her revolver. The 
wolf killed her—I had no need to use those 
hideous teeth ; but before she died she 
raised that toy instrument and inflicted 
my death wound. It was I who shot the 
wolf " 

Her voice faded away into silence. The 
dimness of death covered her awful, too 
bright eyes. A minute or two later she 
breathed her last. 

We rescued Laura Bensasan from her 
terrible prison. We took from that den a 
distracted and nearly mad girl. We brought 
her back to the house, and did all that 
ingenuity and kindness could suggest for her 
benefit. But one look at Hiliers was better 
for her than all our sympathy. She flew to 
him. He took her in his arms. He loved 
her and she loved him. There was no 
longer any bar to their happiness and future 

Original from 


My Shakespeare Autograph Book. 

By George J. Beesley. 

r— £>>£*' 

N a recent number of The Strand 
Magazine an article appeared on 
"Autograph Hunters," by one of 
the hunted. The Editor now 
invites one of the hunters to say 

a few words. 

Mr. Harry Furniss 
inoculation possible 

asks, "Is there any 
to avert autograph 



Jrtrj^ Auf- 



fever ?" I don't think there is. I have 
closely observed the course of the fever in 
several instances, from the 
first attack, through its 
most virulent stages, to 
the steady-going, chronic 
sort of condition that sets 
in sooner or later. 

Only recently I attended 
a meeting at which a 
member of the committee 

deputation " arose and said, "I suppose, gentle- 
men, I may keep the letter ? " On receiving 
the consent of the committee he said, as he 
carefully replaced the missive in his breast- 
pocket, his eyes at the same time glowing 
with an unnatural light, "That's worth five 
quid ! " Of course, it wasn't, but that was 
the beginning of the madness. 

The autograph fever clutches all sorts and 
conditions of men in its deadly grip, from the 
small boy with a ruled MS. book, in which 
he requests you to " write something," to the 
monarch on the throne, whose autograph 
album is a triumph of the bookbinder's art 

4- "** 

'U*&. '46U*~*~9 ^9 Attn**- A-** *f+y 

% ji 

9 < 





f ytU++ fjs<-?i//i 


was to report on an interview he had 
had with a well-known personage on some 
matter connected with the society he 
represented. A letter he had received from 
the person in 
question was 
read at the meet- 
ing, and at the 
conclusion of the 
proceedings "the 

At the commencement I must tell you 
that I am not an ordinary autograph hunter ; 
there was method in my madness, for I 
wished by my efforts to help the fund which 
is being raised to complete the restoration of 
Shakespeare's Church, for the autographs of 
celebrities have a commercial value. 

Referring to the scheme, Field-Marshal 
Sir J. L. A. Simmons wrote : " You have hit 
upon a most ingenious method for raising 
funds ; may you be successful." But it seems 
that the idea had suggested itself to at least 


by Google 

riginal from 









one other person, for in a letter to me early 
in the year Mr. Louis Wain says : " We have 
already arranged a somewhat 
similar thing for the dinner 
to the cats' - meat men of 
London, but it is, of course, 
on a much smaller scale. It 
is curious that both should 
be doing the same, but I dare 
say the idea is not the first." 
My collection is now prac- 
tically complete; not quite so complete, 
perhaps, as I should like it to be, for a large 

instances but "plates tin 

with gold," and many 

persons of title leave the 

world, so far as they are 

concerned, not one atom 

the better than they found it. 

Before going farther I propose to 

give my readers three specimen letters 

of regret. The first is a message 

from Her Majesty the Queen, which 

shows how kindly considerate she is, even 

to an autograph hunter. Had it been 




for any other purpose than to include in 
a collection I wished to make unique, and 
which was to benefit an object of world-wide 
interest, I should not have presumed to 
address Her Majesty : — 

number of persons refuse to give their 
autographs under any circumstances ; but 
I have specimens of the handwriting ot 
upwards of four hundred living celebrities 
of almost all nationalities. 

I have asked only those who have 
"achieved greatness" to contribute to the 
collection — persons whose names would 
be well known apart from any hereditary 
title. A title makes no man great in the 
best acceptance of the word ; it in some 




*m 7 *?^ 


^ T-fr- I 1^ 


by Google 

DR. F. H. COW EN. 

" Marlborough House, 

"Pall Mall, S.W., 
"13th February, 1902. 
" Miss Knollys is commanded to 
convey to Mr. G. J. Beesley the 
expression of the Queen's great 
regret that she is unable to have 
the pleasure of complying with his 
request, as Her Majesty has been 
obliged to make it a strict rule never 
Original from 






).fi lt 4u4&*^Z?' 



to give her autograph to anyone with whom 
she is unacquainted ; and Miss Knollys is 
directed to add the Queen feels sure 


f{/QH<V\ fCAtUjtfAs 

r 1 



she to break her rule in favour of Mr. 
Beesley a very inconvenient precedent 
would thereby be created." 


*4— — 


The second letter is the late Archbishop 
of Canterbury's reply to my letter inviting 
him to contribute to the book, and the third 


Mr. Beesley will quite understand her 
inability to accede to his request, as were 

^~ — '^ ^~ 



3y Google 





his compliments to Mr. G. J. Beesley, and, 
while fully conscious of the flattering nature 
of the request, regrets that he cannot com- 



is the printed form sent by Lord Rose- IsaI- (/ C/ttJ G t/d~ 

bery to everyone who asks for his / " yO* 

bery to everyone 
lordship's autograph : — 

"Lambeth Palace, S.E., 
" February 3rd, 1902. 
" Dear Sir, — The Archbishop desires me 



ply with it, as he 
makes a rule not to 
intrude his hand- 
writing on any col- 
lection of auto- 

So much for the 
regrets, of which I 
received fewer than 
a score, but there 


(jjj, ask** <U( forth** 



are about two hundred unused, stamped, 
addressed envelopes knocking about some- 
where, if they have not been destroyed. 

to reply that he cannot break (Jf • _ - ^. ■» 44*— , , ^ r. ^ 

his rule never to give his / ^ * ^^V ^^ ^1 rc^C tuS*~S^*y 

autograph. At the same time / r> 

his Grace sees no harm in 4do^Lt £</ <h 

your plan. — Yours fathifully, t , 

W. J. Conybeare, Chaplain." /^^4^S^ 
44 Lord Rosebery presents 

Set** £pj«< \ 

by LiOOglC 


Original from 









Autographs No. 1, No. 2, and No. 3, being 
those of our Prime Minister, Secretary of 
State for the Colonies, and Chancellor of the 
Exchequer respectively, will 
interest the majority of my 
readers ; and here I may say 
that in the political section, 
with the exception of Lord 
Rosebery, not a single member 
of the Opposition replied to my 
letters, and this I much regret, 
as I wished the collection to 
be thoroughly representative. 
I give this explanation, or I 
might be accused of party 

Three other interesting auto- 
graphs at the present moment 
are those of Dr. Sven Hedin, 
the great Swedish explorer, who 
only recently returned from a 
three years' wandering in 

Magazine are al- 
ready familiar ; and 
Lieutenant Peary, 
the Arctic explorer. 
The quotation 
given is from one 
of Joaquin Miller's 

In the musical 
section I am re- 
producing facsimile copies of the autographs 
of those two masters of the Renaissance — 
Sir C. Villiers Stanford and Dr. F. H. 

J+. > 







'SI**,** /C 





Cowen ; also that of Dr. Edward Elgar, 
the famous composer of " The Dream of 


/Zz; : 

Central Asia ; Mr. Harry de Windt, with 
whose story readers of The Wide World 

£UsdL h£ "**> ***** *% '**** — 



/ OJk </h*»M> & «/L frsAruJvK}'' \ Gerontius." I was fortunate, too, in 
I /L^ - ~ f ; obtaining a contribution from Herr 


by LiOOglC 

Kubelik, for I am told that he rarely 





gives his autograph. The name of Richard 
Strauss, the greatest living master of 
orchestration, is familiar to Queen's Hall 
audiences, but 'is, perhaps, not so well 
known in the provinces. Lovers of opera 

. **—■* 


ViotJ ye not", T<« Browwie cries. 
JKtour coming ftouble flies'" 
Joy and peace, and goodly gain. 
Surely follou) m our lr ai'n . 
Gli/e***ft«n..& little room 
1* protecting Shakespeare's tomb. 


will not require to be told anything con- 
cerning Mesdames Melba and Calve. 

The other theatrical autographs repro- 
duced are of persons well known to 
present-day audiences, perhaps the least 
well-known name to English playgoers 
being that of the great American actress, 








by Google 


MUM Ml TrOlil 




Miss Ada Rehan. One of the 
most interesting and character- 
istic contributions to my collec- 
tion is from the pen of the in- 
imitable Mr. Dan Leno. 

Suppose we now look through 
the autographs of some of the 
best-known persons in the world 
of letters. Mr. Frederic Harrison 
sends his compliments, a pro- 
visional curse, and signs himself 
"An Enemy to all Restoration." 

Punch's worthy editor is 
also represented in my collection. 
Mr. W. W. Jacobs's is a charac- 
teristic piece of work. The 
author of "A Double Thread" 
sends a little poem ; and the 
Poet Laureate quotes Tennyson, 
but with a slight error. Mr. 


O, J-4- .. C 

V * 

**», t ^>-«*-' *• 

^Jw vy 





/«r£ &A: /:/o* 


G. R. Sims is represented by a very apt 
quotation from Shakespeare, and Mr. Max 
Pemberton, in a little ditty, tells " How It 

CLa *# •♦vc C**-> C±+ CLcu , *r£t syyC+t& 

Came to Pass." The late M. Zola wrote 
for me a sentence from his famous letter 
"J/ Accuse," a sentence which was, at the 



/3t+*h«* g—iy +± CC. Jf~^,~* fl,^ 

$#r 4' ^A* 6 *- ***^ «*** ?«-* <<~ 

/fa ^/U^ t»Xi, U»* 



{ N 


VcL xxv.— 38. 

time of the 'interment of the great novelist 
in Montmartre Cemetery, quoted by a Parisian 
workman over the grave. u Thanks to thee," 

9 Act.}*** 



by Google 

Original from 



\ \ 

apply to a piece of work that he was to per- 
form only a month later, for the autograph 
here reproduced was written in the latter part 


**c Mtr<&Zr*\ far ##&* 

MK. DK1T0N KlVlKKIv, k.A. 


said he, " truth is on the march and nothing 
can stop its progress." 

of May, and towards the end of June Sir 
Frederick was called upon to perform, as 
all the world knows, an operation on His 


Majesty the King, fortunately with the 
greatest success. 

Other very interesting autographs are those 

MR. G, P, WATTS, R-A. 

Mr, Alfred East, A.R.A., 
the well-known landscape 
painter, very kindly sent 
me a sketch, M A Recollee- 
tion of Shakespeare's 
River," which is here re- 
produced, and Mr. Palmer 
Cox, the Canadian author- 
artist, is responsible for a 
very interesting item in the 
form of a verse and illustra- 

The chess champion, 
Dr. I.asker> is referring to 
Shakespeare when he says 3 
"All humanity stands bare- 
headed at thy grave,' 1 Sir 
Frederick Treves little 
thought, when writing the 
proverb which appears 
above his name, with what 
force those words would 


*^j7t^« Ar>» ^^r^ £'*>** £4<«. 6yp* 

#*S<+ f/L CA*~~>< /u^^£^ *.;3U~ 
Aft* 6uU£* M jJr+4 rTu- >^rw*Z^ tL<**+ 

StR r. C. BVXiVAtW. 

,- n f . Original from 






ft*. s\ <r 



of the Commander-in-Chief, the Chief Rabbi, 
and Dean Farrar. 

The other autographs reproduced but not 


referred to in this article are too well known 
to need comment. 

In conclusion, I may say how deeply 
indebted I feel to all those ladies and 


gentlemen who have so kindly contributed 
to the collection, many of whom, although 
they are very busy persons indeed, found 
time to write me most charming letters of 
encouragement and wishes for success. 



by Google 

Original from 

Mrs. Timson - Smiths Lion. 

By Tom Gallon. 


T ain't what you think," said 
Mrs. Timson-Smith, sharply. 
" Come to that, we might as 
well go back to Camber- 
well Green and keep one 

" But it seems such a bold thing to do," 
urged Mr. Timson-Smith, meekly. " We 
don't even know the gentleman ; I'm sure 
I've never even seen him act." 

" Well, don't tell anybody else so. I only 
saw him myself once, when I went in the 
Jacksons' box ; and I'd had such a hearty 
dinner I fell asleep till the middle of the last 
act, and the poor man had been stabbed, 
or poisoned, or something, the act before. 
But I enjoyed myself immensely." 

" Do you really mean, Maria- 

" Marie, if you please, Mr. S.," broke in 
his wife, chillingly. " At my time of life a 
letter more or less doesn't matter ; and the 
other's more delicate-like. What I mean is 
that I intend to ask this man down here ; I 
mean to let some of these people round 
about understand that we're in with the best 
of them and know what to do. With all 
your money they haven't hesitated to snub 
you ; they only call when they want some- 
thing for a charity. I tell you, Tim, that if 
we once get the great Mr. Leopold Wakerley 
down here, over a week-end, they'll come 
flocking round us like the pigeons used to 
when we threw out crumbs and corn in 
the old back garden at Camberwell Green. 
Besides, it's done every day ; these actors 
expect it." 

" Well, my dear — Marie," said Mr. Timson- 
Smith, with a gulp, " I suppose you'll have 
your own way." 

41 Of course I shall," replied the lady, 
calmly. "And I tell you, Tim, it'll be the 
easiest thing in the world. These sort of 
people are only too grateful to be asked to 
sit down with the nobs; he'll jump at it 
And we might get him to speak a piece, or 
anything of that kind, in the drawing-room. 
Come to that, I wouldn't mind if he blacked 
himself and gave us a bit of that gent who 
smothered somebody in the Tower of 

" Would the drawing-room hold him ? " 
innocently asked Mr. Timson-Smith. 

" You leave details to me," said his wife. 
"As he'll be play-acting on Saturday night 
we might get him down by the last train, or 

by Google 

even on Sunday morning. And I'll send 
out the biggest lot of invitations I can ; I'll 
send a private note with each, letting 'em 
know who's coming. Gracious! — we'll pack 
the place ! " 

Let it be explained that Mr. Timson- 
Smith — late of the City and of Camberwell 
Green — had suddenly come into money. 
Mr. Timson-Smith (known to his intimates 
as Timothy Smith ; the change of name and 
the hyphen were an inspiration on the part of 
Mrs. Timson-Smith) had been a very happy 
and contented little man during the years he 
had taken the early train from Camberwell 
every morning (Sundays excepted) and the 
late train back at night, to and from the 
City. He had not been quite so happy since 
this change of fortune. Mrs. Timson-Smith 
— a large lady, with certain large social 
aspirations — had seen the dream of her life 
fulfilled, had taken an estate within reason- 
able distance of London, and had patiently 
waited for the county to call upon her. The 
patience with which she had waited had 
grown into impatience as time went on. 
Now, at last, she saw a chance to capture 
them and to get her name into the papers in 
one breathless hour. 

The house of the Timson-Smiths was all 
that it should be ; gorgeous flunkeys got in 
each other's way, with nothing particular to 
do ; splendid horses drew the equally 
splendid carriage of little Mr. Timson-Smith 
and large Mrs. Timson-Smith about the 
country lanes. Mr. Timson - Smith told 
himself, at times, that he was "getting used 
to it " ; if the truth be told, he was a little 
afraid of the gorgeous flunkeys, and was not 
quite sure if he could find his way about his 
own house. Having a sublime belief in 
Mrs. Timson-Smith, however, he felt that it 
would be all right in time. 

A certain young and fashionable actor had 
recently gone into management on his own 
account; had played difficult parts in an 
eccentric way, and yet with some distinction ; 
had, in a word, been taken up by Society. 
Mrs. Timson-Smith saw here her chance ; 
to get this man down to her beautiful house, 
and make much of him, and have obscure 
country people to meet him, would give her 
at once that position to which she had 
aspired. So she wrote to him — addressing 
the letter to the theatre. 

Gushingly she expressed a desire to meet 

Original from 



him; said how much pleasure it would 
afford Mr. Timson-Smith and herself if Mr, 
Leopold Wakerley would give them the 
pleasure of his company at the Hall on 
Saturday evening next, to stay until the 
Monday following, Every arrangement should 
be made for the comfort of the great 
Wakerley— and so on and so forth. 

"I'm sure I hope it'll be all Tight/* said 
little Mr. Timson-Smith, feebly, to his son 
Jack that night in the smoking-room. " You 
see, my boy, your mother has a way with her 
that sweeps you along " — the little man made 
a movement with his hands indicative of 
that sweeping process — "and you've got to 
be swept What am I to say to this gentle- 
man if he comes down ? " 

Jack was a young man who had seen, 
perhaps, even in his limited twenty years of 
existence, something more of the world than 
his father had done. He laughed, and spoke 
confidently enough, 

lI Oh t I wouldn't worry, dad," he 
said, "They're rum fellows, these 
actors, but jolly sociable, I've heard ; 

making her voice heard, foe the benefit of 
the " general, " at a very early hour of the 
morning ; in these later times Mrs. Timson- 
Smith stopped in bed and read the fashion- 
able intelligence before getting up* 

u My love, is anything the matter?" asked 
Mr. Timson-Smith. 

Without a word, but with her lips pursed 
in a triumphant way, his wife laid an open 
letter before him. "Now, what did I tell 
you ? " she asked. 

The little man read the letter. The hand- 
writing was a scrawl, going here, there, and 
everywhere 1 hut it announced that Mr. 
Leopold Wakerley would be delighted to 
accept Mrs. Timson-Smith's invitation. He 
would leave London by the afternoon train 
on Sunday (it was quite impossible for him 
to get away before that time) and would 
arrive at about six o'clock on that Sunday 



be nice to 'em and don't make a fuss about 
'em, and you'll find they're ripping. A bit 
eccentric, mind you ; but that's all the better 

Mr. Timson-Smith, partially reassured, 
passed the next day or two in wondering 
what was going to happen, Sitting alone, 
after breakfast, with two embarrassing servants 
looking coldly at him, he was surprised by 
the sudden appearance of Mrs, Timson- 
Smith. In the old days of Camber well 
Green the lady had been in the habit of 

by Google 

evening. The last clause of his letter was a 
curious one. 

M Let me beg of you/' he wrote, ** not to 
lionize me. It is repugnant to that finer 
sensitiveness which characterizes me, Let 
me join you as one of yourselves ; think of 
me as being a friend. The many photo- 
graphs, in my varied characters, you have 
seen in the papers, and the flattering notices 
which have invariably accompanied their 
insertion, will probably have led you to a 
false impression of me. I desire to 

Original from 




be a mere private individual in your 

" It's all right," said Mrs. Timson-Smith, a 
little doubtfully, " but it ain't quite what I 
wanted. However, we'll draw him out when 
he gets down here ; and we've got him, any- 

Those artful little notes accompanying the 
invitations had their effect ; out of quite a 
large number there were only two "regrets." 

Sunday though it was, the name of Mr. 
Leopold Wakerley acted like magic; there 
was to be a big dinner-party, and after it 
one of those indefinable functions destined 
to crowd the rooms and make the guests 
generally hot and uncomfortable. 

Mrs. Timson - Smith was confident of 
success ; at last she had achieved her ambi- 
tion. It was a far cry that night from 
Camberwell Green ; perhaps Mr. Timson- 
Smith wished it might have been a smaller 
cry back again. However, the ordeal had 
to be faced ; he knew that he would have to 
be pushed into corners, and dragged forth to 
meet people, and pushed back again ; he 
only hoped he might manage to slip away 
to his own private sanctum for a smoke 

" Halloa, dad, you're looking rather 
chippy ! " exclaimed Mr. Jack Timson-Smith, 
coming upon his father suddenly in a corri- 
dor. " What's wrong ? " 

" N-riothing," said Mr. Timson-Smith, with 
a little sigh. "Only I do hope the man will 
be all that your mother anticipates. You 
see, Jack, this is not my way of living at all. 
I wasn't brought up to it, and I haven't 
dropped into it, so to speak, as your mother 
has. However, we'll hope for the best." 

It becomes necessary that we should leave 
the Timson-Smiths for a while and take two 
flying leaps. The first we take is to the flat of 
Mr. Leopold Wakerley on the afternoon of 
Sunday. Mr. Leopold Wakerley — tired out 
after a matinee and an evening performance on 
the previous day — had risen late ; then some- 
one had dropped in to lunch and someone 
else to tea. Only at about six o'clock did 
Mr. Wakerley remember, with a start, that 
he should at that time have been miles away 
in the country, near the home of the Timson- 
Smiths. It was a raw and blustering night — 
not inviting, by any means, though it was 
early summer. Mr. Wakerley had to think 
of his health. More than that, what was he 
to do ? It was Sunday ; there was no pos- 
sibility of sending a telegram. Finally, he 
thrust the matter aside, telling himself that 
he did not know these people and that a 

by Google 

letter of apology would be sufficient to excuse 
his absence. Let it be said that, with the 
carelessness which is supposed to belong 
to the artistic temperament, Mr. Leopold 
Wakerley forgot the letter of apology and 
never wrote at all. With that our first flying 
leap is over, and we will leave the young 
actor-manager going out to dinner, cosily 
enough, not a mile from his flat. 

Our second leap takes us back again to 
that country wherein the home of the 
Timson - Smiths was situated. A bleak 
country part it was, on this night at least — 
wind-swept and rain-swept — a bad night for a 
man to be out in. And there was a man 
out on this night, and in curious language he 
cursed the fate that had placed him in such 
a position. He stood just within the gates 
of the grounds of the Timson - Smiths' 
mansion ; with one hand thrust within the 
breast of his frock-coat, and with his legs 
planted a little way apart, he shook his head 
at the lighted windows and spoke : — 

" Methinks yonder is the boyhood home 
of what might once have been — no, no ; all 
that is past." Then, coming down very sud- 
denly from his heights, he said in a smaller 
voice, " I wonder if there might be a chance 

He was a small man, yet with a presence. 
There was an indefinable air about him, as 
of one used to doing everything in public ; 
although he was quite alone at this moment, 
he actually paused now and again in the 
midst of a speech as though waiting for 
the applause which should inevitably follow 
before he could go on again. His boots were 
soddened with rain and mud ; he had no 
overcoat ; and an old and very shiny hat was 
perched on one side of his grey head. His 
face was clean shaven— or might have been, 
had it seen a razor during the past two days. 

Truth to tell, the man was in a sorry 
plight. One of that great company who 
" live to please," he had been stranded, with 
other members of a small touring company, 
in bad weather and in a bad part of the 
country. The manager had bolted ; the 
" ghost " resolutely refused to take the most 
ordinary exercise ; and Mr. Ramsey Porter, 
together with some eight or nine other indi- 
viduals, was left lamenting. 

Some of the others had friends — some 
had not. At all events, the little company 
separated, and Mr. Ramsey Porter set out to 
walk to London. Too proud to beg, he had 
supported himself for some days by reciting 
the immortal bard, in sections, in public- 
houses and other places. The game had 

Original from 



not paid ; and on this Sunday night Ramsey 
Porter was, to use his own expression, "on 
his uppers." 

Behold him, then, with his courage screwed 
to the sticking-place, marching on the home 
of the Timson Smiths. 
What his idea was* 
Heaven only knows ; 
perhaps he hoped, if 
he spouted the lines of 
the immortal one badly 
enough, he might get 
a shilling to pass on. 
But whatever the 
reason, it must be re- 
corded here that in 
sheer desperation he 
walked up to the prin- 
cipal entrance and 
loudly rang the bell. 

" £ Tis not in mor- 
tals to command suc- 
cess ' — but we'll do 
more ; we'll get in f my 
boy, if the gods are 
kind," he murmured 

as he gave 

tug at the 

to himself, 
a second 

in. The 
opened by 

Porter got 

door was 

a gorgeous 
footman, who stared at 
him in perplexity ; 
Ramsey Porter waved 
the menial aside, 
advanced into the hall, 
and looked about him 
critically. It happened 
that Mrs* Timson- 
Smith— impatient, and 
wondering what had 
become of her lion — 
was crossing the hall 
at that very moment- 
Ramsey Porter saw, in 
the big, richly -dressed 
woman, wealth and 
luxury and all that was desirable. Removing 
his hat with a flourish and beaming upon her 
genially, he burst forth. 

u Madam, I am an ac-tor," he began, in 
a sonorous voice ; and Mrs. Timson-Smith 
gave a violent start and looked at him 
rather nervously. "An unkind fate has cast 
me, at this dead hour, within the walls of one 
with whom time stands hesitant, and on whom 
love and luxury attend as willing slaves. 
Madam, 1 implore you to pardon " 


u Oh, please don't mention it," said Mrs. 
Timson-Smith, hurriedly, with a nervous 
glance behind her towards the drawing-room, 
where her guests were assembled. ** You 
see, Mr. What-d'you-call-it — you took me a 
bit by surprise. I 
didn't quite expect — 

I didn't exactly know 
— you look so different 
in the pictures." 

Of course, 
Timson - Smith 
convinced that 
was the great Leopold 
Wakerley, and she was 
a little disappointed 
and a little shocked. 
Remembering the 
guests who had been 
invited specially to 
meet the great man, 
she began to feel that 
she had made a 
hideous blunder. On 
the other hand, Mr. 
Ramsey Porter, after 
that one reference to 
his pictures, positively 
blushed, and held out 
his hand cordially to 
the lady, 

" My dear lady, you 
have noticed them, 
then?" he exclaimed. 

II 'Twas said they were 
not unlike — the last 
ones, I mean — what 
time I played heavy 
lead for Fostick's 
Co ni b i n a t io n of Tal en t , 
But— pooh ! — that was 
nothing ; I have had 
them twelve feet in 
length and on every 

" Yes, yes — quite 
so," murmured Mrs. 
Timson - Smith, She 

"Will you take this 



turned to the footman, 

gentleman to his room ? 

Mr. Ramsey Porter staggered, passed his 

hand over his bald forehead, and wondered 

if the world had come to an end. But Mrs. 

away, and only 
murmur sweetly, 
you ? The first 
dine in twenty 

by Google 


Timson-Smith had turned 
came back for an instant to 
**You will be quick, won't 
bell has gone, and we 

Then she was gone. 
Original from 


Ramsey Porter 



looked at the big footman and the big 
footman looked back at him* The big 
footman, being used to surprises in that 
household, was not greatly upset by this 
one. Being a conscientious man, however, 
he determined to warn the butler to keep an 
eye upon the silver, 

"This way, if you please, sir/' said the 

As they went up the stairs, the footman 
leading, Ramsey Porter took two stairs at a 
jump and linked his arm confidentially 
through that of the footman. 

"Tell me, me friend," he said, in a stage 
whisper, " what is their intention regarding 

Ramsey Porter nodded his head slowly, as 
he was shown into the beautifully furnished, 
well-lighted room, with a cheerful fire burn- 
ing in the grate. " I see— 1 see/' he 
muttered to himself. " I have fallen by the 
wayside ; I am dying, in that attitude sugges- 
tive of flights of angels hovering ; I shall be 
found in the morning, probably with a leaf 
or two placed upon my person, by the 
thoughtful wanderers of the air. This is a 
vision, a taunting dream of luxury, from 
which I shall awake," 

" Is this — all your luggage, sir? }) 
The footman was holding up gingerly a 
small, rain-soaked brown -paper parcel, tied 


me? What part do I play here to-night — or 
is this but a trap ? " 

" The trap went to fetch you, sir/' said the 
man, in some astonishment, s< By the look 
of you, you might have walked." 

11 Walked ? " cried Ramsey Porter, stopping 
still on the stairs. " You may well say walked, 
me friend ; I seem never to have ceased 
walking lately. But, come— where are you 
taking me ? " 

" To your room, sir." 

by Google 

about clumsily with string. In a moment 
Mr. Ramsey Porter had snatched it from 

11 Young man, you know not what you do !" 
he exclaimed* ** ( Who steals my — wardrobe 
— steals trash, 1 I fully admit ; nevertheless, I 
may, in some more fortunate hour, need a 
change. Me friend," he added, a little piti- 
fully, (< I would eat. Now, do you think you 
could manage — say, even a crust of bread 
and a morsel of cheese?" 

Original from 




, " Dinner will be served in a few minutes," 
replied the footman, and went away to tell 
his fellow-servants what an astonishing lot 
these actors were, when you came to know 
'em intimate ! 

" Now, I wonder what it means ? " asked 
poor Ramsey Porter, standing thoughtfully 
before the fire and drying his soddened 
boots. "They all seem to say that dinner 
will be served in a few minutes, and I seem 
to be expected. Can it be possible that my 
name — and eke my fame — has travelled so 
far ? One never knows ; a mere whisper — a 
breath — will go a long way at times. And 
that Juno-like creature in the diamonds 
certainly seemed to recognise me ; spoke of 
my pictures ! " 

Meanwhile, in the drawing-room below, 
Mrs. Timson-Smith had gone in great agita- 
tion to her son Jack ; hurriedly she whispered 
him : — 

" Jack, I am in such trouble. That man 
— that play-actor— has come." 

" ThaCs all right, mater," said the young 
man. " Now we're all complete." 

" You don't understand. He's not at all 
the sort of person I expected," she whispered. 
" He — he isn't exactly clean ; and he doesn't 
seem to have much luggage. I do hope it 
will be all right ; but I wish, Jack, you'd just 
run up and — and see that he's got all he 

So young Timson -Smith nodded cheer- 
fully and ran upstairs. To say that he was 
surprised when he entered the room and saw 
the apparition before him would be to put 
it very mildly indeed. He closed the door 
quickly and went in, with a blank look on 
his face. Recovering, however, he held out 
his hand, in his own genial fashion, to 
Ramsey Porter. 

It was the first friendly hand that had 
been extended to that poor mummer for 
quite a long time; he grasped it fervently. 

" I say, you'll be awfully late, you know," 
said young Timson-Smith ; " they're all wait- 
ing for you in the drawing-room." 

"For — for me?" asked Ramsey Potter, 

" Rather ! I say, aren't you going to get 
dressed ? " 

Dimly Ramsey Porter understood that he 
was in a tight place. He could not know 
how the mistake had arisen ; he only knew 
that certain smartly -dressed people were 
waiting for him in the room below, while he 
stood, unkempt, unshaven— a mere wastrel 
out of the darkness — to fill someone else's 

"I — I regret that I am not quite the 
figure to appear " 

" Oh, don't you worry about that," said 
young Timson-Smith. " I heard something 
about there being a little accident. Missed 
your luggage, I suppose ? " 

" 1 miss it more every hour," murmured 
Ramsey Porter to himself. Aloud he said : 
"Yes; I missed it somehow, on— on the 

" I should think dad's things would about 
fit you," said Jack, looking him over criti- 
cally. " But you'll have to jump, you know ; 
we're dreadfully late." 

"Jump, young man? Let me tell you 
that I have ere now changed to the skin in 
two minutes and a quarter. Jump, indeed !" 

He was so quick about it that he got down 
—hurriedly shaved, and with Mr. Timson- 
Smith's spare dress-suit upon him — just as 
the guests were rustling across the hall. The 
getting into that dress-suit was a miracle, for 
Timson-Smith was small and lean, while 
Ramsey Porter, although small, was yet a 
little bigger than his host, and was, above 
all things, considerably more rotund. The 
waistcoat,. after being buttoned, creaked omin- 
ously ; while the coat had already given way 
in one place across the shoulders, owing to 
tightness. Ramesy Porter fervently hoped 
that he might get through his scene without 
further accident. 

The worst of the business was that every- 
one looked at him, and, having looked at 
him, began to talk about things and plays of 
which he knew nothing. They all knew him 
to be an actor, and he felt that his fame had 
travelled farther than he had imagined ; but 
they spoke of parts of which he had never 
heard. Fortunately for him the great Mr. 
Leopold VVakerley had sprung into fame 
quite in a hurry, and so was practically un- 
known, save in these later months. More 
than that, his portraits had never appeared 
except in character, and the world outside 
knew nothing of his every-day appearance. 

" Will you sit here ? " asked Mrs. Timson- 
Smith, beaming upon him and waving a 
jewelled hand to the place at her right. 
" We were so late, and " — lowering her voice 
a little — " people get so impatient that I 
could not wait any longer. I will introduce 
you gradually." 

" Madam, there are no words upon my 
tongue to thank you," said Ramsey Porter, 
placing one hand upon his breast and bowing 
low. Immediately afterwards, however, he 
started upright, with a somewhat shocked 
expression ; the dress-suit was tighter than 




he had anticipated, and he was not quite 
sure which part had given way this time. 

It was a fearful and a wonderful sight to 
see this man, who knew only the backwaters 
of his profession, playing his part in that 
great house for all that that part was worth. 
His stiff collar rasped his newly-shaved chin ; 
he was in agonies about the waist ; yet with 
what an air he carried himself ! This was 
no ordinary feast ; he had been called upon, 
at a moment's notice, to "gag" for someone 
else, and he gagged magnificently. The 
only thing that troubled him was that the 
courses came so slowly, and that the people 
about him would talk of things he did not 
understand. A simpering, elderly lady on 
the opposite side of the table first set the 
ball rolling. 

" I really must thank you personally for 
the great pleasure you gave me in that last 
part of yours," she gushed. " At the 
moment when you entered there in the 
moonlight " 

" Madam," said Ramsey Porter, feeling 
that at last he had been recognised ; 
" indeed, you mistake. My last performance 
—wherein I enacted three roles in one 
evening — was not in the moonlight. You 
are confusing me with some lesser man who 
probably played in a mere farce. I entered, 
it is true, but through the burning mill. I 
had myself fired that mill and perished 
nobly, smoking my trusty cigarette to the 
last before a slow curtain." 

People began to look puzzled and to 
whisper ; then a callow youth broke in from 
the end of the table : — 

"I say, don't you find it awfully funny, 
don't you know, putting that stuff on your 

Ramsey Porter swelled so much with in- 
dignation that another seam went. " Stuff, 
sir ? " he cried. " Tis the glorious livery of 
the profession in which I was cradled. \jzx 
me tell you, sir, that I was born in a tent, 
and was, at the early age of four, an infant 
phenomenon, and playing, sir, to good 
money! " 

" You have had a very wide experience," 
ventured Mr. Timson-Smith. 

Ramsey Porter tossed off a glass of cham- 
pagne with the air of one drinking out of a 
stage goblet, smacked his lips, and smiled. 
" Sir, I have been, as one might say, every- 
thing by turns and nothing long. Heavy 
lead has been my line, and other things have 
come to me on occasion. My Othello 
has been the talk of provincial audiences ; 
I am told that my Mother Crusoe rocked 

by L^OOgle 

the house with foolish laughter ; I once 
reached Newcastle as one of the Three 
Witches. Experience ? Heaven forgive me ! 
I have played clown in a circus— and was 
rolled in a carpet for my pains. And the 
carpet was dusty !" 

" I had no idea that it was necessary for 
one to go through so much," said Mrs. 

" We go through everything, madam," said 
Ramsey Porter, with something of a sigh. 
" If one would succeed, one must be pre- 
pared not only to be an actor but an author. 
The authors upon whose work I in my time 
have improved are countless ; there is no 
work, however noble, that will not bear 

" Is there really a prompter who stands in 
the flies?" asked the gushing lady again. 

"Not in the flies, madam — perchance at 
the wings," said Ramsey Porter. " For my 
part I know not a prompter — we prompt 
ourselves ; no actor of standing needs a 
prompter. If the line won't come another 
will serve, and probably better." 

'* It must be interesting to play so many 
parts," suggested another guest at the farther 
end of the table. 

" PartSy sir ? I remem-bar, on one occa- 
sion " — Ramsey Porter leaned back in his 
chair and held a. glass of champagne between 
one half-closed eye and the light— "in a 
drama, not unknown, perchance, to some of 
you, 'A Dream of Gold, or Shall She Speak?' 
it was my fate to play six parts. At first I 
was the grey-haired butler, with a soliloquy 
into which one could, so to speak, set one's 
teeth ; I perished, defending to the last the 
family plate. Next I was a giddy youth 
returned from abroad and falsely accused of 
the murder of a rich aunt. While the scene 
was set I danced a hornpipe as a comic 
sailor, who came from Heaven-knows-where 
for the occasion. I was tried for my life in the 
next act, but escaped ; I was a sentry outside 
the prison, and made love (in a red wig and 
whiskers) to a singing chambermaid ; I was 
the inspector of police, in a fireman's helmet, 
who arrested the real murderer of the butler ; 
and I had a topical song, as the village inn- 
keeper in the last act, before changing again 
to the persecuted hero returning to the home 
of his ancestors." 

It was, of course, impossible for Ramsey 
Porter to avoid making blunders. More 
than that, the strange life he had led had 
given him that curious view of things, and 
that easy familiarity with people, which was 
not all that could be desired at the aristo- 
Original from 




cratic board of the Timson-Smiths. He 
addressed one elderly lady, to her horror, as 
14 my dear n ; drank, perhaps, rather more 
champagne than was good for him ; and 
capped his performances by rising, somewhat 
unsteadily, to address the company. 

"Friends — fellow-citizens— men of Rome 
— to say nothing of the ladies," he began, 
kissing his finger-tips and beaming upon 
Mrs. Tirnson-Smith ; 4 * it is meet that I 

ing ; she hurriedly rose and gave the signal 
for the ladies to depart At the same 
moment young Tim son-Smith came down 
the room and took the arm of Ramsey 

" I say, old chap, I want you a moment," 
said the young man. 

Lt I come with you straight,' 1 said Ramsey 
Porter, making an* elaborate bow to the rest 
of the men. 


should return some thanks to you for all 
that I have enjoyed this evening. I could 
have been happier, perchance, had my 
borrowed garments clung to me less closely ; 
but I have worn many things in my time. 
It is good to think that I, who have delighted 
thousands (quite setting aside certain be- 
nighted audiences who have flung undesir- 
able things at me ; I forgive them all) — 
I say that it is meet that I should be recog- 
nised and taken to your hearts as I have 
been taken to-night I do not understand 
why the merits 1 possess should have entitled 
me to this — but let it pass. As some slight 
return for a feast I had not expected I will — 
while, as someone whose name has slipped 
my mind for the moment once said, I am 
' full of meat ' — I will recite to you, at length, 
'The Dream of Eugene Aram. 7 If, by 
chance, under the influence of the rosy god, 
I should omit a line or should forget any 
part, I will give you a specimen of my 
powers in the art of gagging*" 

He had actually got through the first two 
lines, at a slow and ponderous pace, before 
Mrs. Tim son -Smith realized what was happen- 


" Or as straight as you can, eh ? " laughed 

They went upstairs to the room in which 
Ramsey Porter had changed. Jack shut the 
door and then looked at the other man with 
a whimsical expression of face* 

M I say, who are you, really ? " 

'* Don't you know?" asked Ramsey Porter. 

" I know who you're supposed to be," said 
Jack. "The mater thinks you're Leopold 
Wakerley, the London actor." 

"Do you mean to tell me that I, Ramsey 
Porter, who once was billed twelve feet high 
and who played on a certain notable occa- 
sion in Newcastle (where jealous spite kept 
my name out of the bill)-- do you mean to 
tell me that I have been mistaken for 
another ? " 

i4 Well, it looks like it," said Jack, quietly. 
11 How did you come here ?" 

"A harsh world would have naught of me; 
I" — the poor mummer's voice broke a little 
and he turned away his head—" I was starv- 
ing ; I had tramped for nearly three days 
and slept at nights— well, Heaven knows 
how ! * 

Original from 


3 o8 


" Poor beggar ! " 

** Poor no longer ! " cried Ramsey Porter, 
with a sudden change of manner. " I have 
been, for one night at least, playing lead ; for 
one night at least I have tasted of the best ; 
for one night in all his strolling life Ramsey 
Porter has stood out among men and has 
been looked upon by the eyes of beauty." 
He kissed his finger-tips, "Call me not 
poor after that ! " 

" Well, in return for that, will you do me a 
favour ?*' asked jack. 

"Ask of me what you will; it is granted," 

"I wouldn't care to let the mater know 
that any mistake had been made," said 
young Timson-Smith. " You see, she ex- 
pected this man from London to come down, 
and you turned up in his place. Don't you 
think you might slip away — quietly, you 
know— without making any explanation ? " 

in a low voice, " But tell me, young sir, 
how did I play my part?" 

" You were deuced funny, 73 said Jack, wiih 
a laugh. 

"Ah! I had not desired to be funny," 
said Ramsey Porter, with a sigh. "If you 
would assist me to- to remove my garments, 
I would be ready to go the sooner," he 

So young Timson-Smith stripped him with 
care, and Ramsey Porter put on again his 
own old garments. At the last moment 
Jack said, delicately enough : — 

"I say, Fd be awfully glad if you'd 
accept— — w 

"Sir!" exclaimed Ramsey Porter, with 
dignity ; " I am no beggar ! " 

" Oh, you quite misunderstand me ; I was 
only suggesting a loan— a small matter 
between gentlemen, surely," 

The face of Ramsey Porter 
cleared ; he shook the hand of 
his young friend and accepted a 
sovereign — very gravely writing 
down in an old pocket-book the 
amount of the debt and the 
name and address of young 

" It shall be repaid," he said, 
gravely* " Now I will dis- 
semble, as before suggested 
Having played my part — 

George ! 
out the 
Farewell ; 

for it, too, by 

I will go off with- 

usual slow music, 

you shall hear from 


u You would have me dissemble? — go 
forth into the darkness, as it were?" 
"If you wouldn't mind," said Jack, 
"It shall be done," said Ramsey Porter, 

Timson - Smith has 
never heard from him ; perhaps 
it was hardly to be expected 
that poor Ramsey Porter should 
have had the opportunity to 
scrape together again so large 
a sum of money, Mrs. Timson- 
Smith, for her part, has never 
been undeceived ; but she was 
a little relieved, perhaps, at the 
sudden disappearance of the 
man she thought she had 
invited to her dinner-party. 
14 Never again ! " she murmured to herself, 
with a decided shake of the head. "They 
are much too eccentric, these realiy great 
men ! n 

by Google 

Original from 

The Flight of a Golf Ball. 

By Frank Broadbent, M.I.E.E. 

PRELIMINARY Note. — The experiments described in this article were carried out by Mr. Harry Smith, 
F.I.C., and the writer, the idea originating with Mr. Smith, who, besides being a skilful experimentalist, 

is a keen and expert golfer. — F. B. 

NYONE— that is to say, any- 
one who is at all observant — 
who has watched a game of 
tennis, cricket, or golf must 
have noticed at times the 
erratic course taken by the 
ball during its flight through the air. 

When a ball or a stone is dropped from a 
height it falls, under normal conditions, in 
a perfectly straight line, assuming no strong 
wind to be blowing. When thrown through 
the air it describes a regular curve before 
reaching the ground. But when struck by a 
racket, bat, or golf club, something happens 
which causes the ball to describe what, in 
popular language, might be called an 

and cricket are concerned 
that this is caused by the 


irregular curve. 

So far as tennis 
players recognise 
"spin" on the 
ball due to the 
way in which it 
is struck, or to 
the " twist " put 
on it by the 

The fielder at 
"slip" rarely 
has a ball which 
is not twisting, and he needs generally to be 
pretty smart to hold a catch. 

Just consider what happens after a ball 
has left the hands of a fast bowler. Travel- 
ling at a terrific pace the ball touches the 
bat, runs along it, acquires a rapid twist in so 
doing, and flies through the "slips." The 
fielder puts out his hand and just misses it. 
He could swear he held his hand at the spot 
the ball was travelling to, and so he did. 
But the ball had a " twist " on it, and 
deviated from the straight path in which it 
started on leaving the bat. Or perhaps the 
fielder's eye is quick enough to follow the 
irregular course of the ball and he " fields " it. 
But it is too "hot," and hedropsit. "Buttered" 
is all the sympathy he gets from the man in 
the crowd, who does not understand that the 
ball was revolving so rapidly that it took the 
skin off the player's hand, and that to have 
stopped it at all was a far more difficult task 

by LiOOglC 

than some of the " brilliant " catches that the 
spectators frantically applaud. 

In lawn-tennis the same thing occurs ; but 
for two reasons it is not so noticeable. 
First, the ball does not travel so far as in 
cricket ; and, second, it is caught on a racket 
and not in the hand, so the twist is not felt 
in the same way. But the effects are there, 
whether recognised or not. The ball is 
approaching a player from the opposite 
court, and he thinks to himself, "Yes, I will 
just place this over in that corner," but the 
ball goes anywhere but into the corner in 
which it ought to have dropped. Why ? 
Because it was spinning when it touched the 
player's racket, the spin having been put on 
it by the stroke of his opponent. 

In the championship matches at Queen's 
Club between the English and the American 

players, the 
American serves 
had a distinct 
" curl " in the 
air, which at 
first bothered 
the E nglish 
players. This, 
again, was due 
to the twist or 
spin put on the ball by the server in striking it. 
In baseball an expert pitcher can send 
down some very tricky deliveries, and make 
the ball describe a double curve in the air 
before it reaches the striker. As for golf, 
when a golfer has made a particularly good 
drive from the tee he is generally so pleased 
with himself that he does not worry much 
about the path followed by the ball, but 
hands his driver to the caddie, and looks 
round for approbation with that air of satis- 
faction which only the pure-blooded golfer 
can assume. 

But the two-hundred yards' drive does not 
always come off. The ball rises, then sud- 
denly "ducks" and buries itself in the 
ground ; or it starts off low down, rising 
gradually for a little distance, then, curving 
sharply upwards, rises almost perpendicularly, 
and falls — well, perhaps fifty yards from the 
tee. The path described is shown in Fig. i. 





Sometimes the ball will emulate Diavolo 
in looping the loop, and follow a path in- 
dicated by the line in Fig. 2. 

At other times, instead of rising, the ball 
travels low, and taking a graceful curve, say 
to the right, instead of travelling towards the 
next green, drops about as far from the latter 
as at starting. To add to its diversions it 
rolls into a ditch or behind a bunker. It is 
at such times as these that the remarkable 
fluency and extra- 
ordinary range of 
vocabulary of the 
average golfer get 
full licence and 
are heardat their 
best — or worst. 

This extra- 
ordinary be- 
haviour on the 
part of the ball 
is due to " spin." 
But, as a golf 
ball is not caught in the hand as in cricket, 
nor on a racket as in tennis, how do we 
know that it spins at all ? And, if the ball 
be fairly hit with a straight-faced driver, why 
should it spin ? 

Now, I do not propose to attempt to 
answer conundrums of that sort The fact 
was demonstrated some time ago by Professor 
Tait, father of the late Lieutenant Tait, of 
the Black Watch, at one time golf champion, 
who was killed by a ball smaller than used in 
the golf game, whilst serving his country in 
South Africa in the much more serious game 
of war. 

Professor Tait enlisted his son's services in 
the carrying out of certain experiments, 
which had for their object the determination 
of the direction and amount of spin given to 
a golf ball when struck in the ordinary way. 

A length of narrow tape was wound round 
the ball, which was then set on a tee at a 
short distance from a box of clay. Lieutenant 
Tait then drove the ball into the clay ; and 
the amount of spin or twist given to it was 
determined by the length of tape unwound 
from the ball. 

A little crude, perhaps, but the point was 
proved. As an illustration of life's little 
ironies the tale is told that Professor Tait, 
having proved to his own satisfaction that it 
was theoretically impossible to drive a golf 
ball beyond a given distance— that is, with- 
out touching the ground— his son next day 
somewhat upset the theory by driving a ball 
considerably farther than the theoretical 


by Google 

In this article, therefore, theory will be 
left severely alone, and the reader may base 
his own conclusions upon the results 

As mentioned before, the tape business 
was a little crude, and the idea of photo- 
graphy occurred to us as a possible method. 
Now, anyone who has tried to snap-shot a 
golfer in the act of driving a ball knows that 
it is not easy. It is easy enough to obtain a 

good picture at 
the top of the 
stroke, when the 
club is practically 
stationary, just 
preparatory to the 
swing; but at the 
instant when the 
club face meets 
the ball it is tra- 
velling at some- 
thing like eighty 
to one hundred 
feet a second. In such attempts at snap- 
shotting a drive with an ordinary Kodak, 
the club head generally does not come 
out at all, owing to the pace at which it 
is travelling; and to attempt to photograph 
the travelling ball in this way, in the hope of 
learning anything as to its motion, is futile. 
So we decided to try the method employed 
by Professor Vernon Boys in his well-known 
researches on the motion of rifle bullets. 
This consists in obtaining a shadow of the 
bullet on a photographic plate by means of 
an electric spark. 

But it is one thing to shadowgraph a bullet 
and quite another thing to succeed with a 
golf ball. The one is metallic and can be 
used to close an electric circuit in order to 
produce a spark ; the other is an insulator of 
electricity and cannot, therefore, be utilized in 
this way. Again, the bullet will travel in a 
straight line for a short distance from the 
muzzle of the rifle, so there is very little fear 
of its missing the electrical contacts. The 
ball, on the other hand, not being fired from 
a rifle but struck by a club, is not so precise, 
and in nine cases out of ten would fail to 
make the desired contact ; besides which the 
club following up behind the ball would 
carry away or destroy any delicate apparatus 
in its path. 

This is precisely what happened in our 
first experiments. The club head was pro- 
vided with a metal finger, which made 
contact with a brass plate on the floor just 
as it struck the ball. But the force of impact 
was such that either the plate or the project- 




ing finger moved or bent, so that it was a 
matter of considerable difficulty to reset 
them in precisely the same relative positions. 

As the experiments must necessarily be 
carried out in a dark room with just sufficient 
red light to find one's way about, it is obvious 
that no man, however expert with a golf 
club, could possibly hit the ball fairly time 
after time in exactly the same way and miss 
the photographic plate fixed about half an 
inch from the ball. It was therefore 
necessary to devise a mechanical golfer 
which could be depended on to do this* 
After many fruitless attempts to hit the ball 
and produce an electric spark at the pre- 
cise moment required, we 
succeeded ; and the general 
arrangement of the apparatus 
is shown in Fig. 3. 

A short length of shafting 
(A) is supported by two bear- 
ings, fixed to the uprights (B 
and C) at a height of about 
four feet six inches above 
the floor. This is about the 
average shoulder height of a 
man. On the shaft a pulley 
( [ )) is keyed, having a circum- 
ference of about twelve feet, 
and to this the golf club <E) 
is attached by means of a 
bent arm representing the 
arms of the golfer. 

If now a golf ball be placed 
id the correct position on the 
floor, it is only necessary to 
revolve the shaft to make the 
club strike it. It was not 
sufficient for our purpose to 
merely strike the ball ; we 
wanted to strike it repeatedly 
at a certain definite speed. 
As we could only revolve the 
shaft once for each stroke, we 
decided that to drive it by 
means of a falling weight would be the most 
reliable method to adopt. As is well known, 
a falling weight travels sixteen feet during 
the first second, and acquires a velocity of 
thirty- two feet per second ; so, as we could 
allow a twelve-foot drop, we could count 
upon a speed of twenty-four feet per second 
just as the weight touched the ground. A 
rope was, therefore, coiled round the pulley 
on the shaft, passed over a guide pulley in the 
ceiling, and the end made fast to a weight. 
In order to eliminate any retardation effect 
due to friction we chose a pretty heavy 
weight, viz., twenty-eight pounds, and it goes 


by Google 

without saying that we stood clear when it 
fell — not only clear of the weight, but of 
the golf club, which came round at a terrific 
pace. As the circle described by the club 
head was roughly two and a half rimes 
the circumference of the pulley, the ball 
was struck at a speed of about sixty feet per 
second, and the photographs which follow 
show it to be travelling at about double the 
speed of the club. In the later experiments* 
practically all those with the iron tools 
(technically known as tk cleeks " and 
il mas hies ")» the speed was increased to 
about eighty feet per second The speed of 
the ball was then nearly two miles a minute, 
which, although fairly good 
travelling, is often exceeded 
in practice, as in all our ex- 
periments w r e never quite got 
the characteristic " swish " 
which is heard when a good 
golfer drives off from the Tee. 
A front view of the club 
and ball is given in Fig. 4, 
from which it will be seen 
that the golf club is set well 
above the ball, the latter 
being supported on a piece 
of indiarubbcr tube slipped 
over a short peg in the floor, 
and that the photographic 
plate is between the ball and 
the club. As Shakespeare 
says, " Thereby hangs a tale," 
In the first attempts the club 
head was set exactly in line 
with the ball, and for some 
time we could not make out 
why it invariably missed fire, 
so to speak The weight 
would come down with a 
crash that almost shook the 
very foundations ; the club 
whizzed round in a truly 
alarming fashion ; but the 
ball took it all calmly and kept its seat, 
sort of "winking the other eye JJ at us. 
At first we were mystified, but after a few 
ineffectual shots a mark appeared on the floor, 
about three inches away from the ball on the 
near side. Then we realized that had the club 
not been a pretty good-tempered one it would 
have broken its neck with the first shot, as it 
had be-in hitting the floor each time. The 
fact is that centrifugal force comes in largely 
in swinging a golf club, the effect of which is 
to bring the club head towards the striker. 
In our experiments this effect was somewhat 
exaggerated, as the club in the position 




shown in Fig. 
the true golf 
however, with 

3 does not describe exactly 
swing. On repeating them, 
a specially made club, 



in a perfectly vertical position, the 
effect was observed, the head moving 
wards about an inch, so that its centre 
lay in a line with the stick or shaft. 

This explains why a beginner almost 
invariably either "toes" the ball or 
cuts a clod from mother earth ; and it 
also points to the remedy. If, instead 
of trying to hit the ball with the middle 
of the club face, he aims at "heeling" 
it — that is, striking it with 
the heel (a club head, 
being a " freak," pos- 
sesses a face, a toe, and 
a heel) — he will generally 
make a better shot. A 
practised golfer uncon- 
sciously makes the neces- 
sary allowance for the 
bending of the driving 
shaft, but had he known 
during his novitiate why 
he so often " struck 
Scotland," as the caddie 
remarked to Balfour, he would probably have 
made more rapid progress. 

To allow for this bending action it was 
necessary to start the stroke with the club 
above and beyond the ball and negative as 
shown in Fig. 4, and such was the precision 
and uniformity of the swing that the club 
never failed to strike the ball full in the face, 
and only once was a negative broken, and 
this was due to the momentum carrying the 
club tw r ice round. Means were at Qnce 
devised to prevent a recurrence of this. 

Having overcome all difficulties in connec- 
tion with striking the ball, the next difficulty 
was to produce the electric spark automatic- 
ally at the right moment. As has already 
been pointed out, contact pieces fixed on the 
club head were carried away or destroyed, or 
lost their shape each 
time they came into 
action ; nor is this to 
be wondered at, seeing 
that they were travelling 
at upwards of two miles 
a minute. 

The final arrange- 
ment, which worked 
quite satisfactorily, was 
a short metal arm (F) 
fixed to the revolving 
spindle of the machine. 
At a certain point in 


its travel this arm made contact between two 
knobs ; the effect of which was to close a gap 
in the discharging circuit of a Leyden jar, 
causing the latter to emit a brilliant spark. 
The simple diagram (Fig. 5) explains this 
clearly. A is a Leyden 
jar, placed on its side, so 
as to bring the sparking 
knobs (B and C) in line 
with the ball. D is the 
gap or switch, which is 
closed at the right 
moment by the moving 
arm. Assuming the 
Leyden jar to be fully 
charged — * which was 
done for each stroke, by 
means of a powerful 
Wimshurst machine — 
the closing of the gap 
(D) causes the jar to dis- 
charge across B and C, 
producing a bright but 
instantaneous flash. The 
actual duration of the 
spark, which is of the 
same nature as a flash 
of lightning, is said to be 1-2 5,000,000th 
(one twenty-five millionth) of a second. 

The short arm referred to could be 
adjusted so as to make contact at any por- 
tion of the golf stroke ; but as one-eighth of 
an inch of movement corresponded to a 
movement of one inch at the end of the 
club, the adjustment had to be very carefully 
and exactly done. 

And now everything is ready for a trial. 
Before each actual attempt a trial run is 
made. The Leyden jar is charged, the 
spindle turned round to bring the weight up 
to the ceiling, a piece of plain card placed 
in position to represent the negative plate, 
and the ball carefully poised on the india- 
rubber tee. " Ready ! Off ! " Down comes 
the weight with a bang, round goes the club 
with a slight " swish " ; a sharp 
smack as the club hits the ball, 
and a click at the Leyden jar, 
apparently simultaneously, tells us 
that all is O.K. This is not quite 
the end, as there is the 
back - lash to contend 
with — that is, the swing- 
ing back of the club, 
endangering the nega- 

The ball is found, 
replaced on the tee, 

5,— diagram of sparking AKRANGEM^T and everything made 

Original from 


by LiGOglC 



& — FI.AT-KAC 

Club and ball in i 
i<-! \-.\- \ i .-ii. a<. shown b 
clearance het ween ii in 

the side i.eare&t to iIil- dub. 

I5..II li:s 
l*v I he small 
id ihc lec, on 

ready as before. 
All lights, except 
a faint red glow, 
are switched off, 
and the negative 
is placed in posi- 
tion. " Let go"— 
and in one second 
it is all over. But 
what a long se- 
cond it seems in 
the dark ; and we 
don't feel quite 
safe till all is still 
again. The nega- 
tive is at once 
developed, This 
is very necessary, 
so instantaneous — 

for although the spark is 
less than a millionth of a second 
—to the eye it seems longer, 
and it is an easy matter during 
the trial run to misjudge the 
position of the ball when the 
spark actually occurs. If, there- 
fore, two or three plates are 
exposed one after the other 
and all developed together, the 
chances are that there is a cry 
of "lost ball." On the whole 
we were Fairly fortunate, and did 
not, I think, develop more than 
one blank plate, 

And now a word of explana- 
tion of the actual photographs. 
The nine shown a